Sherlock To Be Trusted
by RosemaryJohnSherlock
Summary: Sherlock and John find themselves saddled with the daughter of the long-lost Holmes brother after a tragic accident. Can Sherlock cope with being a role model for this deduction hyper six year old? Can John handle double the Holmes? Mild language. Eventual Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"I have some interesting news." Mycroft drawled.

"For the last time, I do not want another of your cases." Sherlock was still recovering from the last one, involving The Woman.

"It isn't a case. It has to do with the third of our small clan." Sherlock appeared confused until his mind palace brought to light a hazy face of a brother older than Mycroft.

"And?" Sherlock snapped impatiently. His oldest brother had been fourteen years his senior. He had been at Uni by the time Sherlock had been forced to endure pre-school.

"He's dead." Mycroft said. Sherlock waited for regret or grief, but none came. He hadn't known him well anyway.

"And?" Sherlock snapped at his brother.

"_And_ you, little brother, are in his will." Sherlock stopped in surprise.

"What do you mean, Mycroft?" He asked warily.

"Were you aware he was married? I assume not, seeing as how neither of us received an invitation. He and his wife died in a car accident." Mycroft deliberately avoided his question.

"Why is this relevant to me?" Sherlock said, bored already.

"He had a daughter. I believe she is about six years old." Mycroft added, in a tone that suggested he probably knew a lot more about her than that.

"_So_?" Sherlock snapped. He disliked children in the fact that they were often the victims of the most violent crimes. It sometimes triggered something akin to sentiment, which he despised while on cases.

"He appointed you her guardian. Congrats, you're a parent." And with that, Mycroft hung up.

Sherlock pulled the phone from his ear and gripped it tightly, as if hoping to convey the grip to Mycroft's neck. This did not happen, so Sherlock quickly texted John that he had news and took off running for 221B, his mind already racing.

"How can they do that? Don't you have to consent? Sign paperwork?" John asked, astonished. The two sat in their respective chairs at 221B, trying to understand the information.

"I suppose Mycroft deemed it legal." Sherlock said, the thought of a new resident already beginning to bore him.

"Well, he is the British government." John said, earning a smirk from Sherlock.

"But still, who would trust _you_ to look after a child?" John wondered aloud. Sherlock's face remained cold, but he felt a twinge of hurt at his friend's words. He was capable of emotion, John of all people should see that. That was just it though, no one _saw_ anything.

"My brother must have held me in high regard." Sherlock huffed indignantly.

"What was your brother's name?" John questioned softly.

"Haven't the faintest." Sherlock replied.

"Yup. You can handle this child." John added sarcastically.

"I can memorize four hundred and twenty three types of tobacco ash. I can 'handle' a child." Sherlock said haughtily.

"And I'm the bloody queen." John muttered to himself.

There was a knock on the door. Sherlock had shot the bell earlier in preparation for this. He would be able to determine a lot about his new charge based upon the knock. If she allowed Mycroft to knock, that would tell him something as well.

A medium knock sounded, but not his brother's. It was rhythmic, possible musical inclination. It was neither too loud nor too soft, so of average confidence. _Average_. Sherlock sighed inwardly. He had grown used to John, though he could hardly be considered ordinary, now he had to get used to an utterly dull and needy presence in his home. He pulled open the door with a sense of dread in his stomach.

Grey eyes met his own. They were large, almost taking up too much of her face, but still aesthetically pleasing. Her hair was a shade lighter than Mycroft's had been when he was younger. It was a light reddish-gold, spun delicately in intricate curls. She was dressed in a small suit jacket and a flouncy skirt, her shoes were black and impeccably shiny. Sherlock sighed. _A little Mycroft, _he presumed.

"Ah, there you are, brother. I was just about to leave little Matilda in your care. Be good for your Uncle Sherlock, Matilda." He patted the girl's head awkwardly.

"Yes, Uncle Mycroft." She said dully. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she stood stiffly.

"I'm off then." Mycroft grabbed his umbrella and made a hasty exit towards his car. Matilda watched him go. As soon as his car sped out of sight, the child gave her newest uncle a wink, turned, and sped off in the opposite direction. Sherlock blinked in surprise.

So the well behaved little child had been an act. Sherlock's deductions had been wrong, and he was not happy. He took off at a run after the girl after firing a text to John.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Matilda smiled as she ran through the crowded streets. The freedom was exhilarating. He father had owned an estate in the country, and she wasn't used to the cramped spaces of London. Still, the city was intriguing and definitely worth exploring.

Of course, she wasn't allowed to explore alone. Adults never listened to children, even a perfectly capable one. Her parents had named her after an intellectually gifted child for Christ's sake, but she had been treated as nothing other than an infant. Hopefully, her uncle would be more flexible.

She was proving to Sherlock that he had to be, with this little stunt. She had played nicely with Mycroft as long as she could stand, but now she needed air.

She turned upon hearing a clipped 'Come on, John' come from behind her. She jumped up and down and waved, playing the eager little charge. The detective and his blogger charged into the square she had paused at, scanning for her. Of course, Sherlock ignored the obvious little girl, because why would she make a scene if she didn't want to be found.

"Uncle Lock! Uncle John!" She called, waving frantically. John was the first to spot her, tapping Sherlock on the shoulder and directing his attention towards her. Sherlock appeared puzzled. They approached her warily.

"Matilda-" John began.

"Tilly." The girl interrupted.

"Tilly, you can't just-" John started again, before noticing she wasn't paying attention. She was staring intently at his watch.

"Did you want to know the time?" He asked gently, still under the impression that she was only a six year old. She considered showing her hand. She decided she wanted to see if 'Uncle Lock' could figure it out.

"Lunch." She whimpered, gesturing to Angelo's nearby. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John gave her a smile.

"Sure, Tilly. And Uncle Lock can pay." He added cheerily, taking her hand. _Tan lines, interesting,_ she thought.

The three filed into Angelo's, getting the front table by the window. Angelo cast some meaningful looks at the trio, making John blush. Again, Tilly filed away the information.

Tilly pointed to what she wanted, and aimed a well swift kick at the detective when he suggested she order off the kid's menu. Sherlock gave her an infuriated look, while John chuckled. No matter what she did, John seemed to like her. Sherlock found her lack of understanding infuriating. She catalogued all of this.

"So, is it always going to be one syllable answers?" John asked good-naturedly. Tilly adopted her practiced incompetent thinking look.

"No." John laughed and she graced him with a small smile. Sherlock glowered at his plate.

Sherlock perked up when he and John began discussing the case they were on. Sherlock had figured out most of it, but he couldn't understand the paint flecks on the victim's jacket. Something had been carried on his shoulder, but he wasn't in any labor type job. John offered mediocre solutions as usual, and Sherlock was gaining nothing from it.

"If the brother has a green ladder, arrest him." Tilly said, not looking up from her food.

"What?" John asked. She glanced back up at the surprise on every aspect of his face. She peeked at Sherlock. Instead of surprise, he wore a look of triumph and utter glee. Tilly's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Hmm, you might be interesting after all." Sherlock said to her. She felt he expected her to smile. She glared instead.

"How did you know that?" John wondered, and Sherlock explained how Tilly had managed to deduce it.

"I solved it hours ago of course and texted Lestrade, but I wanted to assess the child." Sherlock said smugly.

"Tilly." She corrected.

"Not much better." Sherlock muttered.

"Says the man named Sherlock." She retorted. John was trying to stifle his laughter.

The three finished eating in silence, with John casting looks between Sherlock and his niece. He seemed to find them amusing.

When Tilly was finished, she pushed away her plate and sat politely, waiting to depart. Sherlock noticed and eyed her oddly, but John merely grabbed his coat and stood up. Sherlock followed suit. Tilly stood, her stockings itching painfully.

"Are we running again, or are we allowed a cab, Tilly?" John asked as they left.

"I'll walk." Tilly replied, glancing in what she already knew was the correct direction. She had memorized a map of London's streets before coming.

"John, you take a cab. I'll accompany Matilda." Sherlock said, passing John a fifty pound note. John took it and began walking off to grab a cab.

"Tilly." She snapped.

"So obviously you have a dislike for Mycroft, possibly because of his and my absence from your life until now, more likely because he stuck you in those clothes. What do you usually prefer?" He asked, his hands folded under his chin as he walked.

"Trainers. Coveralls. Real socks." She muttered, gesturing to her stockings irritably. Sherlock chuckled a bit. It was a nice, warm sound.

"I'll see about getting you some new pairs then. Did you bring any belongings with you?" He added. Tilly rolled her eyes.

"_Uncle Mycroft_ said he'd have them dropped off." Tilly replied. Sherlock snorted.

"After they've been thoroughly checked, maybe." He replied.

"Git." They said at the same time. They exchanged perplexed looks.

"I haven't decided whether to tolerate you or not. I'll be honest, I have a dislike for children; they tend to be dull, obedient things." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You were one once." Tilly said. As they neared a cross walk, she grabbed his hand. He looked down at her, a mixture of confusion and anger on his face.

"Don't flatter yourself." Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. "I'm doing it for dear Uncle Mycroft." Her eyes flicked to a camera on a lamppost that seemed to be trained on them.

"He can read lips, you know." Sherlock added with a rueful smile, not dropping her hand.

"Damn." She cursed, pulling her hand away. As the light changed, she dashed across the street, then looked back at him, waiting. His hand now felt too light. It was as if the weight of the smaller hand had been a constant presence instead of an instantaneous one.

Tilly tapped her foot impatiently, her grey eyes blazing with mental activity.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_ "__Don't go." A little Sherlock clutched at his brother's trousers. His face was buried in the soft material, trying to memorize everything. A large and gentle hand ruffled his curls as a deep voice chuckled._

_ "__I've got to, Lock. School is important." His voice was warm and smooth, and Sherlock recalled all the stories it had read him._

_ "__More important than me?" He looked up, his grey eyes filled with tears. A matching pair gazed back at him with a melancholy expression._

_ "__No, Lock." The voice softened. Then huge arms lifted him up and cradled him. He giggled as he felt the hands tickling his stomach._

_ "__Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear…" The voice sang, squeezing him on 'teddy bear'._

_ "__One step, two steps- Tickle under there!" Sherlock shrieked with laughter as the hands moved under his chin. He giggled incessantly until he was hugged tightly by his brother. He wrapped his arms around the boy's neck._

_ "__I could teach you. You could stay." He murmured._

_ "__I don't doubt it, Lock. But they prefer degrees from Universities when applying for a job." The boy laughed, hugging his youngest brother and trying not to let his voice break. The little four year old seemed to be _trying_ to make him cry._

_ "__Do you promise to come and visit?" Sherlock whimpered._

_ "__As often as possible. Every chance I get." He pulled back and grinned at his brother._

_ "__Promise?" Sherlock pouted._

_ "__Promise. Cross my heart." He added, winking at the awed gasp from the toddler. _

_ "__Love you, Charlie." Sherlock said._

_ "__Love you, Sherlock." The young man replied._

Sherlock blinked, emerging from his mind palace. Tilly sat on the couch with John's laptop, her legs curled under her. Sherlock noticed the black sky.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" He asked. They had converted a small storage room on his floor to accommodate her. Sherlock was still stinging at the loss of some of his experiments. She glanced up at him.

"I don't sleep." She said, challenging him. Then she went back to the laptop. Sherlock wondered what his brother had thought, raising a child so much like Sherlock. John pretended not to see it, laughing whenever Sherlock and Tilly butted heads.

Tilly had her hair tied back, and looked more comfortable in a pair of denim coveralls than she had in her skirt and stockings. Her things had been delivered as promised, but she'd screamed in frustration when she found that her telescope hadn't passed Mycroft's inspection. Sherlock later received an email that it had contained a cleverly concealed knife.

"You've sure made a name for yourself." The girl muttered from her spot. Sherlock looked up. She spun the laptop to face him, onscreen the homepage for John's blog.

"How did you find that?" Sherlock was perplexed.

"My dad used to read it to me." She said, willing him to start a fight.

"Charlie read about-about me?" Sherlock stammered. Tilly looked confused.

"All the time. He loved seeing you on the news too." She said quietly, as if understanding this was a soft spot for Sherlock. Since his discovery of his long-forgotten brother in his mind palace, it was.

Just then, John emerged from his room upstairs to shoo the two of them to bed. Tilly refused to wear her new pajamas, and was eventually coaxed into one of John's old jumpers. She picked the one covered in cats that Sherlock had given him as a joke last Christmas. Tilly found it incredibly pleasant, and John told her she could keep it. She let out a little squeal of joy, before bouncing off to her makeshift bedroom. Sherlock found the childish gesture odd, before recalling that it was to be expected of a six year old. Even one as advanced as his little Tilly. _His?_ Sherlock's brain reeled. He ran his hands through his curls to escape the thought.

"Bed for you too, Sherlock." John added, powering down his laptop. Sherlock glanced up at him. His sandy blond hair was disheveled, and his pajamas had the wrinkled look of being violently slept in. He'd had a nightmare and woken up, only to decide to check on them, he surmised.

"I do not require sleep." He said, standing to head towards the kitchen. His body gave a treacherous wobble, at the brink of fatigue.

"Obviously." John replied, rolling his eyes. He draped the detective's arm over his shoulder, lacing his other arm around Sherlock's waste. Together they hobbled to Sherlock's room, where John pushed him onto the bed. He drew the blanket around the taller man, he took the opportunity to gaze at his angular yet oddly beautiful features, his long and graceful limbs. Sherlock blinked at him sleepily.

"Night." John said, flipping out the lights.

"Goodnight, John." Sherlock mumbled. He was recalling another person who often tucked him in. John left quietly and Sherlock saw the echo of familiar grey eyes and a warm smile.

"Goodnight, Charlie." He whispered, as if it were a prayer.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Hello! This fic has received a lot more views than I expected, probably because of the eventual Johnlock. Don't worry, we'll get there. Enjoy and follow or favorite or review. I want to please my readers!

Chapter 4

Mycroft stood in the living room, his umbrella tip resting on the floor. Tilly came out of the kitchen, then dashed back in to hide behind John. Sherlock frowned at the action, going in to tend to his brother.

"So how is your charge doing?" Mycroft asked, examining his fingernails.

"She's fine." Sherlock snapped. His brother always put him on edge, and seeing Tilly distressed made him more so.

"Good, good. I'm just here to deliver something that might interest her. Come out, dear." He called, placing his umbrella by the sofa and drawing a long object from his pocket. Tilly peeked around John, her grey eyes bright with curiosity. Mycroft's gaze seemed to soften just a bit, so Tilly approached cautiously.

Mycroft held out a shiny, bronze colored telescope. Tilly gave a squeal of joy, rushing in to grab it. She hugged it to her chest, then, with a quick glance at Mycroft, hugged _him_ around the waist.

"Thank you, Uncle Mycroft." She whispered into his middle. He looked awkward for a moment, before he wrapped his arms around her as well.

"You-you are most welcome, Tilly." Sherlock snorted at his brother's emotional display and Tilly giggled.

"Uncle Lock is just jealous." She said, causing Sherlock to go quiet. Mycroft smiled at the child, pulling back to face her.

"I believe you're right." He chuckled.

"I usually am." She said brightly.

"What a coincidence, _I _am also usually right about things." He replied.

"Except stockings." Tilly grimaced.

"I do apologize, I was told that little girls enjoyed skirts. And it was too cold to go without stockings." He apologized sincerely, casing Sherlock to snort in derision. Tilly smiled shyly at her uncle.

"That is a bit sexist." If Mycroft was surprised by the child's intelligence, he hid it well. "I forgive you." She added.

"I'm glad. Now, I must be off." Tilly stuck her lip out, pouting, but Mycroft assured her that he really had to be going and would be back soon. As soon as he left, Sherlock turned to his niece.

"Getting on well with the git, then?" He sneered. Tilly glared at the detective.

"You love him too. I can tell." She tilted her head at him, thinking. "Everyone thinks you don't care. They're wrong." With that, she took her telescope into her room and shut the door. John emerged from the kitchen.

"Well…" He hesitated. "Are you alright?" Sherlock gazed at his friend.

"Yes, fine." He said quietly, going to his violin. John left him to his music, knowing it was the best way for the genius to cope with his feelings. Sherlock shut his eyes and ran his bow across the strings.

The melody was slow and melancholy. It was beautiful in a heart-aching way. Tilly peered from her cubby, her eyes wide. She crept into the room, the sweater swishing around her knees. Sherlock continued playing; he hadn't noticed her.

Tilly was drawn towards the music. She sat as close to the musician as she could without disturbing him. She swayed as the melody drifted through the room, and she held her breath as it swelled before exhaling as it ended softly.

Sherlock opened his eyes and put away his violin away. Tilly didn't move for fear of startling him. He looked over at her carefully. Her wide eyes gazed back at him, unblinking.

"I'm." She started, then huffed and tried again. "I'm sorry." She said quietly.

"There's no need to apologize, Tilly." Sherlock said evenly. He reached to put his violin case on the shelf. Tilly made a small noise, as if she wanted to say something and stopped. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" He said wearily.

"Shouldn't you?" She countered. He moved to put the case on the shelf once more.

"No, don't." She rushed. "Please." Sherlock gazed at her questioningly.

"Will you play some more? I don't want to sleep." She curled into a ball on the couch, her arms hugging her knees. Sherlock looked at her grey eyes and they seemed to plead with him.

He took the violin out of the case once more. He played a sweet, soft tune. Before she could understand that he was playing a lullaby, her eyelids were drooping. Soon she was fast asleep. Sherlock looked at her limp form on the couch. Her curls fanned across the pillow and her face was peaceful in the moonlight.

He put away the instrument quietly, trying not to wake up the sleeping girl. Then, he glanced from her to her room, thinking. He sighed in resignation. He bent down and lifted her, cradling her in his arms. She snuggled into him in her sleep, and he found that he rather liked the sensation.

He pulled back the covers with one hand, keeping his passenger from falling. As he tried to lay her on the bed, she grabbed at his shirt with sleepy hands. He carefully undid her grip and tucked her in lightly. He noticed a small blanket on the floor. It was tattered and stained. He picked it up and placed it in the child's hands. She sighed contentedly.

Sherlock stopped in the doorway, turning back to gaze at the sleeping form. John watched from his spot in the kitchen. He came up to Sherlock and placed a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock leaned into the touch.

"It's alright, you know. Feeling something." John said softly. Sherlock looked at his friend.

"I don't want to disappoint her." He said sadly. John patted his shoulder again.

"You won't, mate." John soothed. "You two are too much alike. Come on, I'll make you a cuppa." John returned to the kitchen and passed Sherlock a mug a few minutes later. His hand lingered there for a few seconds past normal. The two sat in companionable silence until John ushered Sherlock off to bed. Sherlock obliged, and readied himself for bed quickly.

As John headed back to his floor, Sherlock settled into his bed. He prepared to slow his thoughts enough for sleep. He had almost drifted off when he heard the soft cry from the next room.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

John woke up the next morning to find the two Holmes asleep together. Sherlock was upright in his chair with Tilly curled up in his lap. Their curls mingled together on the detective's shoulder. John felt something warm in his stomach at seeing the two together. It made Sherlock seem nice, almost cuddly.

Tilly's eyes opened and she watched John as he gazed at her uncle. She remembered looks similar to that shared between her parents. She filed the information away for later.

Tilly stayed absolutely still until the detective began to stir, at which point she carefully slid off of his lap. John passed her a cup of morning tea, filled with sugar. She sipped politely; in reality, she hated sugar in her tea. Still, it would be rude to point this out.

Seeing as her uncle would be asleep for a few more minutes, she decided to acquire some information from John.

"Does Uncle Sherlock play the violin often?" She cradled the cup as she took a spot across from John at the kitchen table.

"Yes; especially when he's upset about something." John ran a hand through his hair and smiled.

"I didn't mean to upset him." Tilly said, not meeting his eye.

"Oh, no dear. It isn't your fault. You see, he had a big case; a child kidnapping. He never lets on, of course, but I think cases with children upset him. They remind him of when he was younger." John finished, sipping his own tea.

"Carl Powers." Tilly stated.

"That's right." John was surprised.

"I read about it. My dad had all of his clippings," She jerked her head in Sherlock's direction, answering John's unasked question as to how she knew.

"We have to go to work today as well. Sherlock and I aren't police exactly, but you're probably familiar with that." John added.

"Indeed." Came Sherlock's voice as he strode, he strode everywhere it seemed, into the kitchen. "Be careful not to let the toddler in on our plans." He huffed, making John look sheepish.

"I. Am not. A toddler." Tilly fumed, trying not to scream the words. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, noting her barely held back temper tantrum.

John sighed. The whatever-it-was between the two earlier seemed to have disappeared, replaced with their constant bickering. He wondered if Sherlock was aware that he was almost at war with himself when he fought with his niece. He doubted it.

"I don't want to stay at the flat by myself." She said evenly, her tone now controlled.

"Good. Because you are going to be baby sat by Mrs. Hudson downstairs." Tilly's hopeful look turned to a scowl and she slouched angrily in her seat.

"But I could _help_. I'd be good at a crime scene." She whined.

"No, Matilda." Sherlock said, and Tilly went silent. Sherlock knew he would pay for that remark later, but he was glad that Tilly had agreed to be safe. He felt an odd hollowness in the pit of his stomach when he thought of her getting hurt.

Mrs. Hudson soon came up with breakfast and introductions were made. Despite Tilly's frigid mood, Mrs. Hudson was overjoyed.

"I finally have another gal in the house, ey?" She nudged Tilly playfully. Tilly smiled a tiny smidge.

John hugged the two ladies goodbye and Tilly offered her uncle a handshake. Inside, it stung him that she had hugged John and _Mycroft_ of all people, but he hadn't received a hug goodbye. He tried to push the sentimental rubbish out of his head for now.

Sherlock was frustrated when he got home. The case wasn't particularly interesting. The answer was obvious, and he was angry at Lestrade for getting his hopes up. He would have to reiterate the meaning of a level eight case. All in all, it had been a disappointing day.

Upon entering the building, what hit him first was the noise. A soft, fragile melody drifted from Mrs. Hudson's flat.

"I didn't know she played." John said.

Sherlock didn't reply, knowing that Mrs. Hudson rarely played piano. Never so well, either. He opened the door and found Tilly at ease on the piano bench. Her hair flowed down her back and her denim looked odd against the posh instrument. Her small fingers moved nimbly, and she wore a rare and full smile. Her eyes were shut and her upper-body swayed slightly with the tune.

Sherlock sank against the wall. He'd never heard such playing. He was familiar with pianos of course, but this sounded oddly new to him. It was as if the instrument were singing instead of being played.

When the piece ended, Mrs. Hudson stood up and clapped. Tilly smiled and curtseyed to her shyly. Then she noticed Sherlock and John near the door and her cheeks flushed crimson.

"That was bloody brilliant." John said, mesmerized by the young girl's skill.

"It was beautiful." Sherlock said, smiling softly. Tilly immediately knew that praise was a rare thing from Sherlock.

"Thank you." She said quickly, not wanting to sound too excited.

"She's lovely." Mrs. Hudson praised. "That piano hasn't been played like that in years."

"It hasn't _ever_ been played like that before, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock replied.

"_Sherlock._" John chastised. Tilly giggled, before giving a dramatic yawn against her will. The sound drew the attention of the adults once more.

"Time for you to be getting to bed, then." John said.

"No. I don't need sleep. Just let me stay and play." Tilly leaned her head on the lip of the piano, not touching the keys.

"Oh, you are Sherlock's niece." Mrs. Hudson chuckled.

"Your body requires REM sleep to function, Tilly. Come along." Sherlock made his way to the bench and scooped up the sleepy child. She gave a squeak of shock at the touch, before relaxing into him.

Sherlock felt a warmth flood his body as he cradled Tilly to his chest. The girl turned her head into him, her cheek against his shirt. She gave a contented sigh and the detective squeezed her lightly in a show of affection.

John held the door open, allowing Sherlock to escape easily with his bundle. He waved goodbye to Mrs. Hudson before closing the door. He then had to dash up the stairs to open the door to 221B for Sherlock and Tilly.

Sherlock tucked the girl into bed while John watched from the doorway. Sherlock looked back at him, his gaze sheepish.

"I think…I'll stay in here, if that's alright. Just until I know she's asleep." Sherlock said. John kept a serious face, knowing this was hard for Sherlock. Parenting was hard to adjust to for anyone.

"Just make sure you get some sleep yourself, mate." John smiled at him and left, smiling as he climbed the stairs to his room. Sherlock listened as the footsteps faded, then grabbed his violin from the next room. He played a lullaby long into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Daddy!" Tilly shrieked in her sleep. Sherlock jerked awake from his bedroom next door. He jumped up and ran to his niece's room.

"Tilly, wake up. You're only dreaming." Sherlock shook the girl gently. She struggled and whimpered, still in the clutches of her nightmare.

John thumped his way down to the main flat, wandering towards the commotion. Sherlock made a go away gesture and John went off to make tea for the three of them, knowing that no one was going to sleep the rest of the night.

Tilly emerged a few minutes later, dragging a ratty blanket behind her. Sherlock was absent as she sat at the table. She still had on her coveralls from yesterday.

"Tea, Tilly?" John asked, reaching for the sugar.

"Yes, but no sugar please." John's hand stopped.

"Oh, alright. I've just gotten used to putting sugar in Sherlock's I suppose." John laughed nervously and placed the strong tea in front of the tiny girl. She smiled weakly, still shaken after her sleeping fit.

"Are you two leaving again?" She asked quietly.

"I don't believe so. Why, don't you like Mrs. Hudson?" John questioned worriedly. He had been under the impression that the child had enjoyed the company of the landlady.

"I do. It's just…I like it, is all. When you're around." She mumbled, hiding her gaze from him by glancing into her cup. He smiled at her from across the table.

"I'm glad. How about we make it an outing, then? We'll go and explore London."

"Really?" The fear that had lingered in her eyes dissolved, giving way to curiosity. Her grey eyes seemed to sparkle in the low light.

"Yup. Now, it's fairly early yet. What would you like to do in the meantime?" John asked politely. Tilly took on a nervous expression.

"I was wondering if I might read? The books on the shelves?" She pointed to the book-filled living room.

"Of course you may." Tilly smiled excitedly and she leapt from her chair. She stood in front of the shelves, contemplating for some time. Sherlock walked in just then and noticed her dilemma.

"Would you like help?" He inquired. Her expression was one of gratitude.

"Can you reach that one? That one there?" She pointed to a large, leather-bound book high on a shelf.

"1001 Arabian Nights?" Sherlock asked. Tilly nodded in confirmation. John was surprised that the logical detective had a story book of all things.

Sherlock easily grabbed the book, barely having to stretch. The girl took it from him delicately. When the book was in her grasp, she plopped herself down in Sherlock's armchair and began to read. Sherlock frowned slightly and John tensed, waiting for a fight to break out. But none came as Sherlock merely sat with him at the kitchen table. The two watched the girl turn the pages in silence.

When the sun had risen to a reasonable height, Tilly was made to change clothes so they could all go out. John asked her where she wanted to go first.

"Scotland Yard." She replied eagerly. John saw Sherlock tense.

"Tilly, I don't think-" John began, but she interrupted.

"I just want to meet them. I won't get in the way. I want to see Lestrade and Molly and Sally and Mike and even Anderson. I've heard all about them." She looked up at the two men, her eyes huge and pleading. John glanced at Sherlock.

"Alright. We'll go visiting." Sherlock huffed. Tilly grinned and before he could even process it, her arms were encircling his middle more tightly than he would have thought possible.

"Thank you, Uncle Lock." She said, still hugging him. He sighed and gave a small smile.

"You're welcome. Although Sally and Anderson aren't really worth visiting, and Molly and Mike are at Bart's…" He trailed off, her embrace clouding his thoughts. She grinned up at him and dashed off to the door. She hopped from foot to foot as the men put on their coats.

"It's cold out, Tilly. Don't you have a coat?" John asked her, frowning slightly. He didn't want the child to catch a chill. Tilly shook her head.

"Go and grab a jumper then." John said, and Tilly sighed and grabbed one out of the laundry basket sitting on the couch. It was one of the few that John had had before his tour in Afghanistan, and it was now too small. It was still huge one the six year old and it made Sherlock almost smile.

"Can we go _now_?" She drew out the last word, practically jumping up and down.

"Yes." Sherlock replied as he opened the door. As if the starting gun had been fired, Tilly took off out the door and down the stairs. Sherlock hurried after her, leaving John wondering just how the little girl was faster than two grown men.

When they got out into the street, Sherlock stepped up to the curb to grab a cab. Tilly shook her head and pointed in the direction of Scotland Yard.

"Tilly, it's too far to walk." John countered. Tilly stared back with wide eyes.

"We can take the tube then." Sherlock suggested, causing Tilly to smile. The tube was alright with her. There was a station within walking distance from Baker Street. Tilly walked between the two men, and she rolled her eyes when John forced her to hold their hands when they crossed the street. She complied though, and Sherlock was oddly grateful.

Reaching the tube, Tilly was fascinated by the transport. Sherlock began to explain to her how it worked and so her attention was riveted for most of the ride. By the time the trio had reached their stop, though, she was fidgeting in her seat. When the door _whooshed_ open, she sprang up and tugged them after her by their coat sleeves. John laughed and Sherlock smiled at the sound.

By the time they reached the station, Tilly was very quiet. She looked up at the large building and felt something akin to fear.

"It's alright, Tilly. They don't bite." John urged.

"Well, Anderson is a bit of a dog…" Sherlock added and Tilly giggled. Sherlock was beginning to enjoy the sound.

"Go on then, we're right behind you." John nudged her. Tilly waited a second more before walking with the men towards the building.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It was oddly big. Of course, nearly everything was big to her. Grown-ups bustled about and she felt the urge to grab her uncle's hand. Then, she spotted a face she had seen in the papers near Sherlock's so many times.

"Lestrade!" She cried, jumping up and running to the man. He seemed extremely startled to have a small child crash into him.

"Um…John?" Lestrade looked up to the doctor for help. John chuckled at the terrified expression on the detective inspector's face.

"Greg, this is Matil-Tilly." He changed his mind upon seeing her expression. "She happens to be Sherlock's niece." Lestrade relaxed.

"Hello there, Tilly. How are you getting along with our dynamic duo?" He patted her head and she stepped back to look up at him.

"They're alright. In need of a bit of training though." Tilly added. Sherlock appeared affronted and Lestrade laughed until he clutched his side. Tilly giggled and Sherlock's biting remark melted on his tongue.

"What's the problem? We have work to do." Sally stormed up in her heels. Greg gestured to Tilly, still laughing.

"This delightful little thing," Tilly beamed, "is Sherlock's niece." Sally sneered down at her and Tilly gulped.

"Come to play detective too?" She mocked. Sherlock could barely control the flare of rage in his chest. He could endure the taunting, but anything aimed at a child, _his_ child, was off limits. Sherlock was about to mention Sally's most recent tryst with Anderson, before Tilly beat him to the punch.

"I'm sorry your kitty died. Was it a nice kitty? They usually are nice." Tilly gave her a shy smile, trying to gauge her reaction.

"Yes, my cat did pass away. He was a very nice cat. How did you know?" She tilted her head, staring at the child. Sherlock stared too; he had known about the cat of course, but hadn't found it important.

"Your eyes are still a bit puffy, and your suit has less cat hair than it usually does in the papers. My daddy kept all of the clippings where Sherlock helped." She turned her big grey eyes on Sally, and the hard woman melted a bit.

"What's your name?" Sally asked. Tilly was delighted to answer questions as usual, even such simple ones.

"Matilda. But everyone calls me Tilly." She held out her hand and the older woman laughed and shook it. John, Lestrade, and Sherlock watched in amazement as Sally became _playful_.

"Do you want to help me with a mystery?" Tilly looked up at her with awe.

"Can I?" She started to bounce on her toes.

"Someone stole the biscuits I brought for lunch. I left them on my desk and they disappeared." Sally whispered conspiratorially. Sherlock expected his niece to scoff at such a juvenile request, but he watched her eyes alight at the prospect.

Tilly dashed off, already having figured out which was Sally's desk. Then, after examining the surface, she sped off around the floor. She stopped at each desk, occasionally peering into drawers. Then, she plopped in a particular chair. Her hands went to her chin and John was surprised to see Sherlock's thinking pose on the child. Anderson soon approached the chair, a frown on his face when he noticed that it was occupied. Sally and the group approached the scene.

"Tilly, what is it?" Greg asked, mirth in his voice.

"Anderson took the biscuits, Ms. Sally." Tilly said, not moving from the chair. Anderson sputtered.

"What is this child doing, Lestrade?" He spat, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Tilly is on a case for me." Sally answered, raising a challenging eyebrow at Anderson. He paled a bit under her gaze.

"How do you know that, Tilly?" Sally turned to Tilly, smiling. Tilly gave a worried glance at Anderson, but Lestrade gave her an encouraging wink.

"Anderson didn't go out for lunch today like he usually does. He got hungry before he could get off his shift though, and he spied the cookies. The bag is in his drawer; it smells like Ms. Sally's perfume, so it's hers. I'm afraid that he has already eaten them, as he still has the crumbs on his shirt." She glanced up at the group of grown-ups, noting the pleased look on Sherlock's face, the barely contained laughter of John, and Greg and Sally grinning at her. She tried to ignore Anderson's hard stare.

"Brilliant, Tilly." Sally beamed. "Anderson, you owe me new biscuits." Sally stated, causing Anderson to go red. He glared at Tilly. She slid out of the seat and headed to stand between John and Greg. The inspector noticed her nervousness and placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly.

"Sherlock, your niece has a place here any time." He said, glancing down at her warmly. She gave him a gleeful look in return.

"So, where are you three off to next?" Greg asked, clapping John on the back.

"We're off to see Miss Molly at Bart's Hospital. Sherlock said if I ask very nicely, she might let me see a real x-ray photograph." Her eyes widened at the thought.

"Why an x-ray, Tilly?" Sally asked. Most of the adults were thinking the same thing. They had expected the girl to ask to see something closer to what Sherlock enjoyed. Such as, a dead body.

"I like seeing how things are put together. Learning how things work. People are so complex, there's no end to discoveries." Tilly beamed and Sherlock looked at his niece in a new light. She sounded almost like John had when he'd explained why he became a doctor. He glanced between the two. He noted the shared light in their eyes as Tilly wondered aloud about x-rays. He smiled.

"Come _on. _ I want to go ask Molly." Tilly tugged on John and Sherlock's hands, nearly pulling them together. Then she seemed to regain her composure.

"Bye, Greg. Bye, Sally. Bye, Anderson." She hugged Greg and Sally without hesitation. She looked up at Anderson, her eyes holding a question. Then she gave him a small hug and skipped off to her uncle and John. She grabbed both their hands again and pulled them out the door.

"It's cute." Greg said.

"What is?" Sally asked happily.

"The three of them. They seem to fit together." He answered.

"I think she'll be good for them." Sally said. She smiled to herself.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Sherlock?" John asked as the two kept an eye on Tilly as she ran slightly ahead of them.

"Yes, John?" Sherlock replied, keeping his gaze on his niece.

"Why is it she walks everywhere? You must've figured it out by now." Sherlock's gaze flickered over to see John staring at him, awaiting an answer.

"She has amaxophobia, John." Sherlock answered, then went on to explain after seeing the confused look on his companion's face.

"It's the fear of riding in cars. I suspect it has something to do with her parents' demise." Sherlock answered coolly.

"Jesus." John ran a hand through his hair. Sherlock saw the horrified awe on his friend's face now.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asked, almost timidly. That was the thing about John; he could make Sherlock almost shy.

"What? God, _no_. It's just a lot to take in. I thought maybe, because of the nightmares, but she has so much energy maybe she just wanted to run everywhere. It's kind of funny actually," John smiled a bit, capturing Sherlock's full attention, "She runs around like you do when you're on a case. But to her, the whole world is a case."

Sherlock checked on Tilly before turning his attention back to John. She was managing to walk backwards through the crowd, making sure that they were still following.

"Her curiosity is astounding." Sherlock said, causing John's smile to grow. Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion.

"What are you thinking?" He asked, wondering if he'd made John smile. It gave him a small flicker of happiness.

"Usually, it takes a mutilated body to astound you; now it's a little girl." John chuckled and Sherlock felt a smile rise to his face to match John's.

Tilly reached Bart's first of course, and stood in front of it tapping her foot in impatience. As the two men made their way to her, she huffed in impatience. John wondered again if Sherlock could notice the similarities between him and his niece. John wondered a lot about what Sherlock noticed.

"Please hurry." Tilly called back to them. "Remember the limp is psychosomatic." John paused in surprise and Sherlock laughed with more gusto than John had ever seen. Tilly, understanding that her comment had slowed the progress of her escorts, ran back and grabbed their hands. She pulled them through the front door, and the people familiar with the two men gave them odd looks. John waved in greeting to the ones he knew as they made their way to the morgue.

"Can I go find Molly now?" Tilly asked, bouncing in place. John shook his head.

"Let's let Uncle Sherlock go find her." Tilly pouted. "Buck up, he's almost as smart as you are, he won't take long." Tilly grinned a bit at the compliment and John made a 'go on' gesture to Sherlock. Sherlock entered the corpse filled room and spotted Molly at the examination table.

"Hello, Sherlock." She smiled at him pleasantly. "Where's John?" She glanced to where the doctor usually was.

"He's waiting with our guest. She is particularly keen to meet you." Sherlock answered. "She isn't allowed to come in though. John suspects it might not be good for her."

"Sounds more like you two got a dog than a guest." Molly joked, and Sherlock smiled a bit, if only to make her feel better.

The two went out into the hallway, where Tilly was talking animatedly to John about how joints worked. Molly looked around in surprise, before she noticed the much smaller addition to the usual pair.

"Oh, Sherlock! She's beautiful. We were wondering when you and John would take the next step, but I never expected this." Molly clapped her hands gleefully, and Tilly, upon hearing the exclamation, smiled. Sherlock looked on in confusion, which deepened as John blushed.

"Molly, this is Sherlock's niece." The embarrassed doctor stammered. "She's staying with us right now."

"I'm Tilly. Pleasure to meet you." She stuck out a small hand. Molly removed her latex gloves, stuffing them in her pocket before shaking the small girl's hand.

"The pleasure is mine." Molly answered. "Why did you want to meet me?"

"Well, my parents liked to read about Sherlock's cases and John's blog always talks about Sherlock experimenting on things he acquired from Molly. It always made my dad laugh." The girl looked up to see Molly still smiling.

"I was wondering…if I might…if I could please…" Tilly was uncharacteristically shy now, grinding a shoe into the floor and not meeting Molly's eyes. Molly glanced at John fearfully, afraid she'd now have _another_ Holmes running amok in her morgue, but John gave her a reassuring look.

"Would it be alright if I saw an x-ray photograph?" The girl rushed, glancing at Molly hopefully. Molly saw the twinkle of eagerness in her eyes, a bit different than Sherlock's usual burning flame.

"Of course it would." Molly crouched down until she was eye-level with the girl. "What would you like to see?"

Tilly paused, thinking very hard. She didn't want to botch her one chance. Of course, the way Molly had taken to her, she could've had access to as many photos as she wanted. Sherlock wondered why the girl hadn't asked John; he was a doctor after all.

"A hand, please." Tilly replied. Molly obliged, pulling one from a drawer in her office. Tilly took it with reverence, examining how all the bones fit together. The three adults watched her fascination.

"Why a hand, do you think?" Molly asked the men, but Tilly heard and answered.

"It's the most important part." Tilly didn't glance up from the photo.

"What's the reason, Tilly?" John asked. This time the girl did look up, because this answer was very important in her mind.

"It's a part of the body that can hurt people, but can also heal them. It can do so literally, like a doctor stitching a wound, or figuratively, such as offering comfort. It can convey all sorts of messages, things people want to say but don't know how. They anchor you to the world. That's why people hold hands, I think. So they don't float away." Tilly's gaze returned to the x-ray, and she sat cross legged on the floor to better examine it.

Molly looked at the child in wonder. John glanced over to see Sherlock- _the Sherlock Holmes-_ wiping at his eyes. It gave him a flare of hope that the ridiculous man did have a soft side. After about twenty minutes of examining, during which Sherlock had solved a case via his phone, Tilly was startled by a tap on the shoulder.

"Tilly, if we want to meet Mike before we go, we have to do it now. He gets off his shift in five minutes." Tilly nodded and reluctantly presented the picture to Molly.

"If you want to come back, Tilly, I can show you more pictures." Molly smiled and Tilly looked up at her in surprise.

"Really?" She breathed. Molly nodded and Tilly, as was her custom by this point, gave her a fierce hug.

"Come on then. Goodbye, Molly." Sherlock said.

"Bye you three." Molly replied, waving to Tilly. The girl waved back before grabbing John's hand and tugging him down the hallway after her. Sherlock jogged a bit to keep up. Molly went back to her work, still smiling.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

After meeting the famous Mike (John had mentioned him in his blog when he described meeting Sherlock, which was how Tilly knew), Tilly allowed herself to be returned home. John went to grab carry out for all of them, and when he returned he found Sherlock and Tilly engrossed in a game of Cluedo. He shuddered inwardly.

"I win." Tilly said, long after the food had gone cold.

"How?" Sherlock stated, adopting his thinking pose.

"The victim can't have done it, that's how." Tilly replied.

"Dinner, you two." John called for the fourth time.

"Alright." Tilly groaned, coming to the table. Sherlock huffed indignantly and followed after her. Tilly took her usual spot and started to eat. She noticed that Sherlock merely sat down before taking out his phone.

"Uncle Sherlock, aren't you hungry?" Tilly asked, causing John to snort.

"Your uncle rarely eats." John answered, since Sherlock didn't turn his attention away from his phone.

"That's stupid." At this the detective did look up. He had never heard that word directed at him before. He did not enjoy it.

"The human body requires food to function. How are you supposed to chase after me if you don't keep up your strength?" She smiled at him and he softened. She watched as he lifted a filled fork to his lips and ate. Tilly grinned in triumph and John tried to hide his surprise.

Tilly returned to her book after dinner, again forcing Sherlock to take a seat on the couch. John chuckled from his laptop.

"John, may I borrow your laptop?" Sherlock asked. Tilly glanced at the two of them from behind her book. She noticed that Sherlock had moved closer to John than usual.

"Sure." John passed it to him. Sherlock opened the website he wanted and began scanning for the right item. Tilly noticed that the two men stayed close enough so that their thighs were almost touching. She smiled.

All too soon, it was time to be forced to go to bed. John attempted to get her into her new pajamas, but she refused. Sherlock approached with a freshly laundered cat jumper. Tilly hugged it to her chest and ran to change.

"It's ridiculous how much she enjoys that jumper." John said, putting away the pajamas.

"I enjoy that jumper as well." Sherlock smirked and John laughed.

"I know that, you git. It looks better on her." He joked as Tilly dashed back into the room and flung herself on Sherlock's chair once more.

"Bed time, you." John said to the girl. She hid behind her book.

"Uncle Sherlock doesn't have to go to bed." She reasoned.

"Yes, he does. Which means you have to go to bed first." John gently took the book from her hands. She sighed and made her way to her room.

"Only if Uncle Sherlock tucks me in." She said as she shuffled past them. Once she went into her room, John turned to the detective.

"You heard her mate." He clapped him on the shoulder and went up to his room.

"John, don't leave me." Sherlock hissed.

"Sherlock, I'll be upstairs if you need me, but you'll be fine." John turned and left. Sherlock entered the tiny room.

Tilly was sitting cross-legged on her bed tapping out rhythms on the comforter. Sherlock walked in and she looked up. She patted the corner of the bed, indicating he should sit down. He did.

"Sherlock, do you remember my father?" She asked quietly.

"Yes, Tilly. He was my oldest brother. He went to college when I was forced to start school."

"Can you tell me a story about him?" She whispered. "I keep forgetting things about him. I don't want to."

"You know a good way to remember things is to store them in a special place in your mind. I keep mine in a mind palace." He said softly.

"How do you make one?"

"You picture a building and then you store your memories in rooms. Then they're easier to find and they never go away." He answered. Tilly shut her eyes for a few seconds then opened them.

"I'm ready. Now you can tell me the story and I'll remember it." She scrambled under the covers and looked up at him expectantly.

"Once, Charlie tried to teach me to climb a tree…" Sherlock began.

_"__Come on, Lock. Grab the branch, like this." Charlie grabbed the lowest branch on the tree he had decided that Sherlock could manage. It was fairly tall, but the branches started low and were all close together. Sherlock jumped and grabbed the first branch, kicking his legs wildly in the air._

_ "__Now get your legs on the trunk. That's it. Now reach up one hand to the next branch. Push with your legs so you can reach it." Charlie stood under the toddler now, ready to catch him. Sherlock made it to the second branch, then the third. He kept climbing until he reached the top._

_ "__Sherlock!" Charlie called. "Come down." Sherlock looked to where his brother was and hugged the tree._

_ "__I can't, Charlie. I'm stuck!" He shouted, beginning to panic._

_ "__I'll come get you, Lock, hang on." Charlie made quick work of climbing the tree, soon sitting on the branch just below his brother._

_ "__Hi, Lock." He said._

_ "__Hi, Charlie." Sherlock sniffed._

_ "__Want to know a secret?" Charlie said. Sherlock nodded, his soft curls bobbing._

_ "__I don't know how to get down." Charlie started to laugh and Sherlock giggled._

_ "__I have an idea." The mischievous toddler said._

_ "__Yeah?"_

_ "__Let's tell Mycroft to come up here too." Sherlock whispered, seeing the middle brother crossing the lawn. Charlie returned the grin._

_ "__That, Lock, is a brilliant plan." Charlie replied smoothly._

_ "__Mycroft!" Charlie and Sherlock called._

_ "__What?" The primly dressed boy approached the tree._

_ "__Come up and play." Sherlock shouted._

_ "__Yeah, Mycroft, come up." Charlie waved at him. Mycroft huffed at their antics._

_ "__Come on, Myc, come play with your big brother." Charlie called to him. Mycroft mumbled something about 'childish twits' and climbed up._

_ "__Now what?" He said. The other two occupants grinned at him._

_ "__Nothing. We don't know how to get down and thought that you could help us." Mycroft glared at his brothers. Then he looked down and his skin paled. Charlie couldn't help but start laughing and soon the eleven year old joined in, enticing a giggling fit in the four year old._

Tilly sat on the bed clutching her side.

"You. All. Got. Stuck. In. A. Tree." A laugh punctuated each word and she was trying to catch her breath. Sherlock smiled, her laughter chiming in his ears.

"The fire department had to come and get us." Sherlock continued, causing Tilly to burst into furious giggles and tears to form in the corners of her eyes. He watched until she calmed down a bit.

"Now, I'm afraid that story didn't make you more able to sleep, did it?" Sherlock asked. Tilly shook her head, grinning. Then her expression softened.

"Will you…will you play for me? Please." She added as an afterthought.

"Of course, Tilly." Sherlock left and grabbed his violin from his room. He moved the bow across the strings lightly before launching into a lullaby. Tilly nestled into her pillows. Her smile never faded as her eyelids drooped. When Sherlock saw that she was asleep, he brushed back a curl, placed a light kiss on her forehead, and left.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"No!" Tilly shouted before running to her room and slamming the door.

"That went over well." John said. Sherlock was staring after his niece in shock.

"I blame Mycroft." Sherlock stated, flopping into his armchair. John stalked over to him, grabbing his wrist and yanking.

"Don't you start pouting too." John barked and Sherlock allowed the shorter man to pull him up. They ended up uncomfortably close, and neither moved for a few seconds. Sherlock imagined that he could almost hear John's heartbeat quickening. John took a deep breath and stepped back.

"So…how are we going to get her to school?" John posed the question that had been plaguing the two since Mycroft had texted them. He was stating that after two weeks of flitting around London with Sherlock and John, Tilly must be put back in elementary as soon as possible. The child had refused.

"It is a ghastly place, why make her go?" Sherlock replied dryly.

"Because, Sherlock, children go to school. To learn things like where the sun goes in the solar system." John quipped. Sherlock scoffed.

"Will you let that go?" Sherlock groaned. John smirked.

"Just get your coat, get Tilly out of her room, and come with me to look at schools. We can find one that she likes and you two can stop making my life a living hell." John called back at the detective as he went to grab his own coat. Sherlock did as he was told. Tilly was convinced to leave her room with the promise of a surprise upon their return. They headed out, visiting addresses that Mycroft texted them.

"No." Tilly said after glancing at a building. Sherlock turned around and made to leave, but John stopped him.

"You two cannot dismiss another school based on the front gate. We are going to try." John demanded. Tilly and Sherlock groaned.

The school was an academy for gifted children. It had music lessons, advanced classes, and field trips throughout London. Tilly had to admit, it wasn't terrible. She looked on it with disdain, though. Sherlock viewed it with disgust and a bit of _fear_.

The detective could protect Tilly at home. Without her safe at Baker Street, how was the detective to concentrate?

"It isn't that bad." John said to the two of them.

"The uniforms…have stockings." Tilly stated blatantly, irritated.

"You'll be fine. You might even make friends." John offered.

"I have friends." Tilly snapped. "You two." She softened.

"A high functioning sociopath and his danger addicted best friend. Not the best companions for a six year old." Sherlock deadpanned. "He means you can make friends your own age."

"Why?" She whined. "Can't you teach me? I can stay at home and learn." Sherlock flashed to a similar conversation he had had with his brother.

"Tilly, you cannot be homeschooled." John sighed.

"Why not?" She crossed her arms irritably.

"Because I'm a doctor and therefore not home often enough and if I leave you alone with Sherlock for too long, he drags you to a _crime scene._" John emphasized. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Tilly quite enjoyed that outing John, I don't know why you were upset."

"It wasn't safe!" John shouted at the detective.

"It was only an armed robbery. I wouldn't bring her to a murder scene." Sherlock tried to explain to John, but the doctor was having none of it. Tilly looked disappointed at the news that she wouldn't be allowed interesting crime scenes.

"Do your fathers fight often, dear?" The principal of the school looked at her with a concerned expression. John turned red and began to stammer incoherently while Sherlock went pale.

"Father and Papa fight occasionally, but it's only because they are very much in love." Tilly answered. The teacher smiled in relief that the domestic seemed to be over.

"That's nice. Did you like the tour?" She gestured to the school. John waited for Tilly or Sherlock to make a biting retort about it.

"Yes. Are the stockings negotiable?" The tiny girl questioned. The woman seemed surprised. Then she smiled again.

"I think we can arrange something." She winked at the child and Tilly nodded, a serious expression on her face.

"Then I will consider the establishment." She replied. She grabbed for Sherlock's hand. "Come on, Papa, you promised we could go to the Yard today." Sherlock looked startled as he was lead off and John, sticking with niceties, said a quick goodbye to the principal.

As soon as they were well away from the school Tilly doubled over in a fit of giggles. John and Sherlock gazed at her in confusion.

"Your faces…" She wheezed. "Domestic…" She dissolved into giggles once more, and now that they knew why she was laughing, John and Sherlock both looked uncomfortable.

"You wanted to go to the Yard?" Sherlock tried to distract the child. He also tried to control the odd sense of glee at being thought of as John's significant other.

"Yes. Greg promised me the video he took with his phone after you met Irene." The child grinned, before taking off at a run down the street. Sherlock and John streaked after her.

"I…thought…she was…done…with this sort of thing." John panted as the two men struggled to keep up. The child, though extremely short for her age, seemed to almost fly down the street ahead of them. They eventually caught up to her at Scotland Yard. Sherlock was both alarmed and relieved that the yard was so close to the school.

They found Tilly sitting in Greg's lap as he played her the video he had taken with his mobile. Tilly was giggling incessantly. John, having caught his breath, laughed a bit as well. Sherlock frowned. He hadn't enjoyed being drugged against his will.

"Even the mini-freak finds you laughable." Anderson smirked as he walked past Sherlock. Sherlock glowered at him, and Tilly stopped laughing, having heard the comment.

"I'm small because I haven't had a growth spurt yet; you are mean because you feel threatened, which is not a very good reason at all. You think Sherlock's a freak because he's smarter than you will ever be, and _I _am also smarter than you will ever be. That doesn't call for being rude." Anderson looked at the girl, his expression one of utter disbelief.

"I am also sorry that you and your wife are having problems. If you really want to be happy, I would break it off and pursue a relationship with Miss Sally, who likes you. And being nicer to people might make you happier as well." She finished and craned her neck up to look at Greg. "Thank you for showing me the video."

Then she hopped off the inspector's lap and grabbed Sherlock's hand. Sherlock gazed down at her in wonder, the tiny thing that had come to his defense without a second thought. The three departed for lunch at Angelo's. Once at the booth, Sherlock addressed Tilly.

"You didn't have to do that." He said. She looked at him in confusion.

"Of course I did. You don't seem to know how to handle bullies." She replied and John smiled a bit.

"And you do?" Sherlock questioned. She shrugged.

"They're people too," Was all she said before returning to her meal.

"Thank you." Sherlock managed, causing Tilly to smile at him.

"You're welcome."


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Hey! I'm so excited that so many people like this story. Please favorite/follow/review at your leisure. It always motivates me to write more! So, no one objects to a longer chapter, right? I didn't think so. :)

* * *

Chapter 11

Tilly looked up at the suddenly imposing structure. It was loud as children rushed through the front gate into the courtyard, where they gathered in groups to socialize. Tilly clutched at her uncle's trench coat.

"I've changed my mind. I don't want to go." She said. She turned her pleading eyes on Sherlock.

"Let's go home instead." Tilly urged, but Sherlock shook his head.

"You have to go, Tilly. Mycroft and John insist." He wasn't pleased about her leaving either, but he had to take her to school. If he folded now, she would never listen to him again.

"Is this because I used to sit in your chair? I promise I won't anymore." She tried to bargain with him. She hadn't any reason to sit in his chair now, of course.

When they had returned to the flat from Angelo's the day before, Tilly had discovered her surprise. Sherlock had ordered her very own armchair. It was the same black and white pattern as their wall paper, and Tilly found it wonderful. She had immediately acquired a yellow marker and drawn a smiley face on it to match the wall even better, though John had refused to let her put a bullet hole in it. Sherlock had found her touches charming.

"All children have to go to school. Surely you've gone to school before?" Sherlock questioned, surprised when Tilly shook her head.

"I had tutors. Mummy and Daddy didn't like me leaving the estate." She glanced fearfully at the school once more before turning back to her uncle.

"Tilly," He asked slowly, realization hitting him. "Have you ever been around children your own age?" His gaze seemed to bore into her.

"No." She mumbled.

"Then how do you know that you won't like it?" Sherlock said.

"Because I'm smart enough to know I won't." She muttered angrily. Sherlock sighed. A bell began to chime and the children started to file inside.

"Time to go, then." Sherlock nudged the little girl, but Tilly clutched his coat tighter and buried her face in the material.

"No." Came a muffled reply.

"I'll be right here when you come out. Alright?" Sherlock stroked her hair until she looked up at him.

"What if you forget? What if you leave me behind forever?" She sniffed. Sherlock sensed her real fear now, that of being alone. He bent down to her level and hugged her before he answered.

"I will always come back." His gaze never wavered.

"Promise?" She whimpered. His heart ached at the unhappy sound.

"I promise." He said solemnly. Tilly tightened her grip on him in response.

Slowly, she detached herself from the embrace and headed up to the school's doors. Sherlock waved and she gave a feeble wave in return. She left the detective with one last fearful look before she went off to brave her peers.

Sherlock stayed and watched the doors for a good half an hour more, just to make sure she didn't make a run for it. Satisfied that his niece was stationary, Sherlock walked briskly off to the Yard. John was working a shift at the hospital, so Sherlock decided to go read over cold cases until Tilly was freed.

Greg was all too happy to give the detective the files. Sherlock attempted to become absorbed in his work, but his thoughts kept drifting. _Was she alright? Were the classes challenging enough? Did she remember her lunch? Would she make any friends? _

This last one worried him the most. After all, _he_ hadn't made any friends at school; he had found other children dreadfully tedious. Still, Tilly was a bit more empathetic than himself, hopefully she would manage. Sherlock was startled from his worrying by a soft chuckle.

"Alright there?" Greg asked. Sherlock snorted in derision.

"No, I am not alright. As usual your incompetence is appalling." He gestured to the files in front of him. Greg smiled a bit wider.

"It's today, isn't it? Her first day of school." Greg elaborated. Sherlock nodded, his thoughts returning to how his niece was faring in the school room.

"You aren't going to be able to focus on those, Sherlock. Why not go check on John at Bart's? It'll make you feel better." Sherlock scoffed, but inwardly he was relieved to be able to escape the station. Maybe he could pick up an x-ray photograph to show Tilly… Greg noticed Sherlock lose focus again and waved him off.

"Get out of here." He grinned and Sherlock didn't need further encouragement. He practically ran out of the station, heading for Bart's.

He spent an hour or so in the morgue before his phone rang. He looked at it oddly; people knew he preferred to text. He answered it warily.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. I'm afraid Matilda has gotten into a spot of trouble at school. We need to meet and discuss this at once." The principal's voice clipped.

"I'm coming right now." He said before hanging up. He muttered a quick goodbye to Molly before rushing from the building. When he arrived at the school, he sent off a text to John.

_Got called in to a meeting at the school._

_-SH_

He rushed up the steps and was met by the assistant principle in the hallway. She directed him to a cramped office and left him there. He saw the principal sitting stiffly behind her desk, with Tilly occupying one of the two chairs in front of it. Tilly refused to look at him.

"Mr. Holmes, good to see you. Please have a seat." She gestured to the chair, as if he couldn't come to that conclusion on his own.

"Matilda, would you like to explain why you're here?" She directed a stern gaze to the child. Tilly kept her head down, her curls hiding her face.

"Well, Matilda got into a fight with another student at lunch today." The woman started, facing Sherlock. "She refused to apologize afterwards and then used inappropriate language on school grounds." She sat back as if waiting for Sherlock to start yelling at the girl.

"How did it start?" He asked, steepleing his fingers.

"She claims she was provoked by a boy in third year. A Jacob Anderson." The principal said wearily. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at his niece. She still wouldn't look up.

"Tilly, look at me." He said slowly, deducing her hesitation. She shook her head.

"Matilda." He cautioned and she winced before meeting his eyes. As best she could, anyway.

Her left eye was darkening into a large bruise. The area around it had begun to swell shut. Her knuckles were bloody, and there were scratches on her arms from fingernails scraping at her skin.

"You want to punish her? She's the victim, not the culprit." Sherlock snapped at the teacher. Clearly she was used to this, because her bored expression never changed.

"Mr. Holmes, we are aware that Jacob _verbally_ provoked her, but it was Matilda that resorted to violence. We cannot tolerate this. She mustn't come to school for the rest of the week. I'm sorry." The woman began shuffling papers to convey that their time was up. Tilly slid from her chair and shuffled towards the door. Sherlock glared a bit, then followed.

"Are we going home?" Tilly sniffled as they walked out of the building.

"No; we're going to get John to clean you up." Sherlock answered, taking her hand. He could feel her lagging behind as they walked.

"Are you tired?" Sherlock asked softly. Tilly shook her head.

"He kicked my legs a bit, but I'm fine." She replied. Sherlock frowned. He stopped and easily scooped the child up and perched her on his shoulders. Tilly accepted it quietly, too sore to protest.

"Why did you fight, Tilly?" Sherlock questioned. He felt the girl sigh into his curls.

"Jacob is Anderson's little cousin. He said that you were a freak and a psycho. He said you were a murderer 'cause you liked dead bodies so much." Tilly took a deep breath before continuing. "So…I hit him. He didn't expect it, with me being so much younger than he was. I split his lip pretty good." She laughed without mirth. Sherlock did not like this laugh. It sounded broken and hollow.

"She said you used inappropriate language as well." Sherlock added.

"Oh, I called him a right bloody tosser." She responded.

After that, the two made their way to Bart's in silence. Tilly found that she rather liked being tall; from her perch on Sherlock's shoulders she could deduce people much more easily. Most of her usual deductions came from shoes.

"Jesus." John muttered at the sight of them. By now Tilly's left eye was swollen completely shut, and her legs and arms displayed a wide range of different colored bruises.

"It looks like you got hit by a train." He ran a hand over her cheek, tilting her chin to better see her eye.

"It feels like it." She replied, wincing as he prodded at the swelling.

"I can't do much for the bruises, but we can go clean up those scrapes, ey?" John asked and Tilly nodded. Sherlock lifted her from his shoulders and Tilly gave an indignant squeak as she was passed to John instead of being set on the ground. He carried her to an examining table and proceeded to clean the dried blood off her arms.

Sherlock regaled John the story of Tilly's brawl with a cousin of Anderson's. He also added that she had been suspended from school for the rest of the week.

"That's convenient." John shot Tilly a suspicious look. She rolled her eyes.

"No one can possibly be dumb enough to think I did this to get out of school." She dropped her gaze from John's. "He called Uncle Sherlock a psychopath. He called me one too, after I hit him." She said softly.

"The term is high functioning sociopath. Doesn't anyone do the research?" Sherlock said dryly and John glared at him. Tilly giggled and winced at how it hurt. Sherlock felt guilty at further causing her pain.

"As your doctor I recommend a lot of rest, young lady. No experiments," Tilly groaned. "No staying up all night, no skipping meals, and no leaving the apartment."

"That's not fair." She whined. John gave her a fierce look.

"You can't go starting fights just because you don't like what people say. Even if they are being prats." He held up a hand to stop her protest.

"My shift is just about over; we can all take the tube home." He started to gather his things. Tilly tried to hop off the table, only to collapse to the floor. Sherlock rushed over, picking her up and cradling her in his arms.

"I'm not a baby." She murmured weakly.

"You might as well be, seeing as you can barely walk." Sherlock replied.

"Can I at least ride on your shoulders, please?" She asked. Sherlock carried her out of the hospital and put her on his shoulders once the three of them were outside. In the tube, Tilly clambered from her seat into Sherlock's lap, and the detective encircled her protectively without thinking. By the time they reached Baker Street, she was nearly asleep in his arms. John passed him a jumper and Sherlock urged the sleepy child to get ready for bed, telling her she couldn't go to be in her school clothes.

She came out of the loo yawning and rubbing her eyes.

"We'll have none of that." John chastised. Tilly muttered something about 'overly attentive doctors' before raising her arms for one of them to pick her up. Sherlock, as was routine by this point, carried her to bed and tucked her in.

"Tell me a story." She said. Sherlock chuckled.

"You're much too tired to hear it all. I'll tell you one tomorrow." He stroked her curls away from her face gently.

"Will you play?" She asked, her voice heavy with sleep.

"Of course." He got up and grabbed his violin; he had started leaving it in her room to save time.

She fell asleep just as he began the piece, but he played all the way through anyway. The music graced her with peaceful dreams and she slept until morning, the nightmares having been banished.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: Enjoy! Check my profile for a surprise. Hope you like the update!

* * *

Chapter 12

"But why?" Tilly pouted as Sherlock donned his coat and scarf.

"Because we're on a case and Mrs. Hudson is out." Sherlock answered.

"I could come." She tried, but as usual Sherlock refused.

"But why does it have to be _Mycroft_?" Tilly whined. John looked confused.

"Tilly, I thought you liked Mycroft." He said. She sighed.

"I do. I'm just so _bored._" She flopped dramatically on her chair and the familiarity of the action was not lost on either man.

"Mycroft will be able to entertain you, I'm sure." John offered. Tilly perked up a bit.

"Will he let me work a case for the queen too?" She asked.

"_No._" Sherlock and John snapped at the same time, recalling what their case involving royals had led to. Tilly slouched back in her chair.

"Can't you stay?" She pleaded with her uncle.

"Tilly, if he stayed I'd have to deal with _both _of you being bored." John huffed, opening the door.

"Mycroft will be here shortly. Anything you need?" John turned back to the child.

"Did you get any more x-rays from Molly?" She questioned.

"Mycroft promised to bring you a few." Sherlock replied and Tilly smiled a bit.

"Alright." She said begrudgingly. She jumped up and hugged John first, then Sherlock.

"Don't get him killed." She said as she went into the kitchen. The two men left while they had the chance. Once in the taxi, though, John thought about Tilly's statement.

"Which of us do you think she meant?" He wondered aloud.

"Both of us." Sherlock answered, as if it were obvious. To him, it was.

* * *

Tilly watched the two men leave from her perch by the window. She sighed. Everything was utterly boring today. Mycroft managed to arrive in time to thwart her attempts to find an experiment of Sherlock's to play with.

"Tell it again!" She cried, bouncing up and down. Mycroft, no longer the Iceman, laughed.

"When Sherlock was younger, he wanted to be a pirate. He used to wear one of Mother's blouses with his black trousers, and he also kept stealing her favorite pair of boots. He would run about the yard chasing imaginary enemies to and fro." Mycroft smiled as Tilly giggled.

"What did he like to say?" She prompted, although Mycroft had told her numerous times over the past hour.

"He liked to shout, 'I am the great Captain Holmes. I've bested every pirate from here to the moon!'" Mycroft said from his seat at John's chair, causing Tilly to nearly fall to the floor laughing.

"Did you tell him that there weren't any pirates on the moon?" She asked, grinning. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement at the story.

"Yes, and that earned me a walk off the plank." Mycroft answered. Tilly continued her questioning, laughing more at each answer.

"Did he fight well?" She looked up at him as she collapsed into her chair, moving her legs so that they were hanging over the armrest.

"He efficiently ruined Mother's rosebush, yes." Mycroft chuckled at Tilly's endless giggling.

The babysitting had started with an examination of x-ray photos, before spiraling off into questions about MI6, which Mycroft was not at liberty to answer, to Tilly's disappointment. The questions had then delved into his childhood, in an effort to extract information about Charlie, Mycroft noted. Tilly had found the discovery of Sherlock's many escapades equally fascinating. He had told her of Sherlock's dreams of piracy at least five times, but for some reason he did not mind the repetition.

"Tell about Redbeard." She begged, and Mycroft obliged, having not told this story too many times yet.

"When Sherlock was your age, he still had not made any friends. He didn't seem to know how. So one day, Mummy sent him on a special treasure hunt. I helped her make the map," Mycroft remembered the hours he had spent, yellowing parchment and burning the edges. He had even given it a faint whiskey smell. Tilly sat at full attention, completely absorbed in the tale.

"I engaged Sherlock in a sword fight, letting him win the map off me. He took it and embarked on the hunt around the neighborhood. It ended in our backyard and when he returned he was slightly disappointed to be back where he had begun. But then," He paused, causing Tilly to wriggle in anticipation.

"He spotted the box. Upon closer inspection, he found it full of holes. He slowly opened the lid. Inside, there sat a brilliant red-gold puppy. The big brown eyes pleaded with the young pirate, and Sherlock carefully took him in his arms and carried him into the house." Mycroft paused, and Tilly waited for what else there was to tell.

"As soon as he came in, he introduced everyone to the puppy. All he said was, 'This is Redbeard, my first mate.' And then he walked back into the yard to play with his new friend." Mycroft finished and Tilly smiled.

"He almost sounds cute." Tilly observed and Mycroft chuckled.

"He was somewhat cute when he was younger, Tilly. I assure you though, you are much cuter." He tousled her hair fondly. She giggled.

"Can you tell about when Captain Sherlock fought the rosebush again?" Her smile grew in anticipation of laughter.

Mycroft was just about to launch into the story when the flat door opened. John walked into the room first, weary but smiling. Sherlock strode in, lost in thought, only to become aware of Tilly's laughter. It chimed throughout the apartment and Sherlock looked to his niece.

Her normally obedient curls were wild and her hair glowed like copper in the low light. Her grey eyes twinkled. He titled his head slightly and she met his gaze and smiled knowingly before erupting into happy laughter once more.

"Well, I'd best be off. John, Sherlock, Tilly." He nodded his head to each in turn, giving Tilly a small smile, before grabbing his umbrella and making an exit. John's confused look only sent Tilly into renewed peals of laughter.

"Not bored now, are you?" John joked and Tilly shook her head no. Her laughter quieted as they headed to Mrs. Hudson's flat for dinner. Occasionally, she would glance at the detective before giggling for a minute or two.

After dinner, she asked if she could play on the piano. Mrs. Hudson was delighted to let her practice and she dashed off happily, bumping into John a bit on the way. She took that opportunity to slip a small note into his hand. He sat on the sofa near the piano with Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock and read it. He grinned and Tilly winked at him before launching into a simple, cheery piece. Sherlock was fuming at not knowing what was going on. John took pity on him and passed him the note.

_Not bored since Mycroft told me some Sherlock stories. Would you like to hear them? TH_

Sherlock didn't have to wonder which stories Mycroft had relayed, especially when Tilly began to sound out the notes for a sea chantey she had looked up online. Mrs. Hudson and John were confused, but Sherlock saw his niece sneaking glances his way. He smiled at her and her grin emerged in full force.

* * *

"Defend yourself." Tilly cried, swinging an imaginary sword about. She was eye-level with the pirate detective by standing on her chair's cushion. Sherlock checked that John had gone upstairs before grinning mischievously.

"I doubt you can defeat me." He replied smugly. Tilly quirked and eyebrow in challenge. Sherlock produced impromptu weapons form John's old cane and an old umbrella of Mycroft's that he had left behind. Tilly snatched for the umbrella.

"False assumption, former Captain Holmes." She said, before jumping from her perch and lunging at the detective. He sidestepped and tried to get in an attack of his own, but Tilly turned more quickly than he would've anticipated.

"Former?" He bantered, swinging the cane lightly. Tilly ducked under the playful attempt and battered his legs with the umbrella. She scampered away again before Sherlock could retaliate.

"Yes. I am the great Captain Holmes now." She batted his legs again before jumping back onto her chair, the umbrella poised for combat.

After several repetitions of this, Sherlock dropped the cane and scooped the child up into his arms.

"That's cheating!" She said, losing her grip on her 'sword'.

"Were you under the assumption that pirates played fair?" Sherlock teased. Tilly gave and irritated huff and crossed her arms.

"Bedtime, you two." Called John from upstairs.

"You heard him then. Best be off." Tilly squirmed to be let down.

"You do realize that you are required to fall asleep first." Sherlock reminded. He kept Tilly in his grip as he grabbed her a sweater from a convenient stack of freshly laundered clothes. He deposited her by the loo, indicating that she had to get ready for bed.

"Pirates don't have bedtimes." Tilly muttered before complying.

"Why do you think I intended to be one?" Sherlock asked.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Hello! Getting closer to Johnlock now... Beginning of Hound of Baskerville.

Chapter 13

Tilly emerged from her room two days later to find her uncle extremely irritable. He frantically clawed about the flat, desperately searching for his cigarettes. Tilly frowned. Sherlock had never been this bad before, not around her.

"Dammit John, tell me where they are!" He shouted, either ignoring Tilly or not noticing her. She hoped for the latter.

By the time she had dashed back into her room to change clothes, John was up and trying to calm the addiction depraved genius. Tilly quietly made herself a cup of tea as John tried to convince Sherlock to abandon his search. Sherlock grew more and more frustrated as he couldn't locate his emergency pack. He had checked all of John's usual hiding spots, not knowing that John had asked Tilly to hide the cigarettes this time. (He had figured that her genius could delay Sherlock's for a bit)

A knock on the door sounded then. A somewhat tall, him being a happy medium between her uncle and his doctor, haphazard man entered the apartment. Tilly stayed in the kitchen to observe. When her uncle urged the young man Henry Knight to smoke, John shot him a disapproving glare. He was very doctoral in his crusade to keep Tilly away from second hand smoke. Sherlock sighed in disappointment and allowed Henry to depart, promising that they would take the case.

Tilly then dashed to the detective's room to perch on his bed as he packed.

Sherlock's room featured a rather large bed, taken up by papers and food wrappers and bits of springs and even a few beakers. An undeterminable hissing sound came from the corner and piles of laundry decorated the floor. The curtains were open, making the floating clouds of dust sparkle wildly in the rare city sunlight.

If Sherlock was surprised by her presence, he didn't show it. He merely grabbed an overnight bag and began packing various odds and ends. Occasionally he remembered mundane things such as socks or his toothbrush.

"Can I come too?" Tilly asked. She sat on the bed in the Sherlock shaped space, which was the only clear part of the room.

"No." Was all he answered.

"I won't get in the way." She assured him. He glanced at her and shook his head.

"No, Matilda. I will not allow you to come." His tone said that the matter was closed. Tilly wasn't done yet.

"I don't see why I have to get left behind while you to go off on holiday." She said bitterly. Sherlock's head snapped up.

"It isn't a holiday; it's a case." Sherlock replied. Tilly rolled her eyes.

"Yes, you and John alone in the country isn't a holiday." She countered, quirking an eyebrow.

"I don't want you getting hurt." He said, but Tilly noted that his resolve was weakening.

"I'll be very good. I won't leave the hotel or anything." She begged, turning her pleading eyes on her uncle.

The two heard John crashing down the stairs.

"Let her come, Sherlock. She'll just follow us if we say no." He called back to them. Tilly turned to her uncle.

"He's right." She added. Sherlock sighed.

"I suppose that you can accompany us." He resigned and Tilly was so happy she stood on the bed and kissed his cheek before scampering off to pack a suitcase. Sherlock touched the spot gingerly after she was gone.

* * *

Tilly wondered for the hundredth time why John had _let her uncle drive._

Her hands clutched the upholstery as the rental bounced over the road. John was sweating in the front seat and Sherlock was completely at ease. Around turns, he jerked the car like a child would a toy. They eventually reached the inn where they were staying and Tilly stumbled out of the car, her legs wobbling. John turned to her as Sherlock strutted ahead.

"Next time," He breathed. "You drive."

"Agreed." Tilly said and they both smiled at the retreating back of the detective.

The three entered the inn, and Tilly giggled as the proprietors asked if Sherlock and John would need a separate bed. John asked if they had three rooms and the man said that they only had two available. John turned red around the ears and Tilly noticed Sherlock become more pale than usual. She tried to control her laughter.

"Is yours a snorer?" He asked John.

"No, he is." Tilly smiled and pointed at John. The man gave her a warm smile.

"It must be so nice to have a little one. We can't decide who the father should be for ours." He sighed a bit and smiled. "She looks just like him."

"Oh, no- she just... Yeah, she does." He said in defeat, glancing to where Tilly and Sherlock stood deducing guests. Sherlock frowned in concentration and Tilly smiled mysteriously, but otherwise they were identical.

"Here's the key." The man dropped the room keys in John's outstretched palm. Tilly ran up and snagged one. She smiled at John as she skipped off to find her room. She hoped that _now_ someone would figure out something.

* * *

"Um…Sherlock?" John asked, staring at the bed in trepidation. Sherlock glanced from the bed to John.

"We're grown men. I think we can handle this." Sherlock said stiffly. John nodded, accepting it with military resolve.

Sherlock changed into his robe and pajamas while in the loo, and John changed quickly, terrified of the detective's return. His heart pattered uncomfortably in his chest.

Clutching the sink until his knuckles turned white, Sherlock tried to get his breathing under control. It was absurd that the thought of being so close to John did this to him. Knowing that he would have to exercise more restraint than he had ever used before, he allowed himself to daydream just a bit.

John was already in the bed when he returned. By his posture, he could tell the doctor was awake. Sherlock climbed in and curled on his side. John could almost pretend that the detective was sulking on the couch. The two stayed that way, until the detective's weariness won out and he gave way to soft and even breathing. John fell asleep soon after.

John awoke an hour or so later, tense from a dream of bomb jackets and red dots. He shivered and glanced around. Then he tried to hold back a surprised laugh.

Sherlock lay curled in a fetal position with all the blankets wrapped around him. His hair peeked out from the cocoon and he mumbled in his sleep. His face was relaxed into a loose, youthful expression. John smiled at the sight, grabbed his dressing gown to use as a blanket, and went back to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: Update, yay! Enjoy, and don't be afraid to send requests.

* * *

Chapter 14

"Is he going to get down?" Tilly whispered to John. Her uncle was standing atop a large rock overlooking the military base.

"I've no idea." John responded. His amused expression was close to giving way to laughter. Tilly smiled up at her uncle's ridiculous perch. She shot John a pleading look and he chuckled, nodding.

Tilly clapped her hands in glee and scrambled up beside her uncle. She adopted his pensive facial expression. John laughed at her mocking pose. Sherlock noticed John's laughter. He sensed Tilly at his side and grinned a bit. Tilly took his hand.

"Does this mean I can help you break into the top secret facility?" Tilly asked eagerly as they climbed down.

"No." Sherlock said, frowning slightly. Tilly sighed.

"But I even nicked Mycroft's badge for you." She whined. Sherlock appeared impressed. He took the badge from her and, upon seeing her browbeaten expression, patted her head.

"How did you learn to do that?" He asked her, but she just smiled mysteriously and skipped off to meet John. Sherlock paused in thought and Tilly rolled her eyes and ran back, dragging him by the hand towards the doctor.

They drove back to the inn to drop Tilly off. She still sulked in the backseat as John tried to pacify her. Having either Holmes throwing a fit was not high on his list of things to deal with today.

"You would worry your uncle and me, plus they won't let us in. We're just going to look around. You'll be more bored there than you would be at the inn." He attempted feebly. He knew that a military base was just what Tilly would enjoy, which was why she couldn't come. It was hard enough controlling Sherlock.

* * *

"Can I have a glowing rabbit, Uncle Sherlock?" Tilly asked when Sherlock and John had returned. She had crossed over to their room, noting that the bed had been mussed on both sides. She sat on the bed now, legs crossed, waiting intently for the story of exploring the lab.

"No, Tilly." John answered. He didn't even want to know what Sherlock might have said.

"Not fair. I bet Mrs. Hudson would allow pets. It would give me someone to talk to when you two are gone." She said this last bit quietly and John softened.

"Maybe we'll check when we get home." John compromised and Tilly brightened. Sherlock sighed and thought of his skull, then glanced toward John. Yes, John was much better, even if he didn't always agree like his skull did.

"Did you have any fun at all?" Sherlock asked her. Tilly gave a small smile and nodded.

"I found this." She passed Sherlock a receipt for a large amount of meat. He quirked an eyebrow at it. He noted, as Tilly had, that a vegetarian restaurant with this much meat was very odd indeed. Sherlock nodded, already working out scenarios in his mind.

"Be good while we're gone." He grabbed his scarf again and John copied him, reaching for his jacket.

"You're leaving?" Tilly questioned, hurt. They had returned not even an hour ago.

"Yes, we are going to see if we can't help Henry find his mysterious hound." Sherlock replied, now buttoning his coat. Tilly watched silently, already forming a plan.

"Be careful." She said, waving at them a bit sadly. John waved back and Sherlock nodded, mind wrapped in the case. They left the room and Tilly counted one minute, then two, before following.

* * *

It wasn't far to Henry Knight's manor from the inn, and from there it was even closer to the moor. She now crept behind the trio as they headed into the mist.

She kept track of the three figures, descending in height, as they strolled in front of her. As the sun set, she relied more and more on following their torch beams. Soon, one beam split away from the others. She could tell it was John and she panicked at having to pick one of her caretakers to follow. She reasoned that the army doctor could handle himself and continued after her uncle.

They delved deeper and deeper into the moorland. Fog encircled Tilly and she shivered. Waiting in the trees, she watched her uncle and the young man reach the bottom of the hollow. As she watched the torch beams bob in the darkness, she heard the rustling to her right.

Her blood went cold. Her small frame began to tremble, even as her mind fought to calm her. The rustle changed to a deep growl. It was harsh and menacing, like an aggressive rumble of thunder. She took a shuddering breath as she watched the torches move to point to the sound. In the light, she saw the burning red eyes.

They were almost directly across from her, positioned on the opposite part of the lip of the hollow. They blinked in the sudden light, then focused on her. The torchlights soon showed only greenery and the rustling began to make its way towards her.

She tried to run, but her legs locked and she merely fell, now all the more helpless. She heard the snarling coming closer, the frantic calls of John in the distance, and the cries of disbelief from Sherlock. Tilly cowered, curling in on herself as the beast approached.

It was the size of a small horse. Its fur appeared blacker than even the night itself. In the darkness, the eyes stood out the most. The space was taken up mostly by the red irises which seemed to grip her soul in a malice-infused vice.

She didn't think she could be any more terrified, until the beast opened its wide jaws and released a terrible bark.

"Papa!" She cried desperately, not realizing that he wasn't coming, that no one was. She felt blood flow again, and she scrambled backwards away from the beast. It crouched as if the pounce, and the last image before she blacked out was of the luminescent dagger fangs streaking towards her face.

* * *

"Matilda!" Sherlock answered the call, not believing anything his senses told him now. He had seen a monster that could not exist. Now he was hearing his niece as she cried for help. He whirled about, coat flowing and torch searching the landscape. It locked onto a staring contest between grey and red eyes, just before the grey eyes disappeared as a small figure tumbled into the hollow.

Sherlock scrambled to where Tilly had fallen, soon joined by Henry and John. The hound was nowhere to be seen.

"Is she alright?" Sherlock asked as John's medical training kicked in and he leaned over his new patient.

"Slight bump on the head. Pulse rapid, possible fainting spell. I don't think there's a concussion, but I won't know until we get to the inn." He muttered, glancing about the dark in disgust. Sherlock nodded and John carried the limp form in his arms. Sherlock escorted Henry to his home before running back to the inn to find John taking care of Tilly.

She lay stretched out on the bed, pale and unmoving. Her breath rattled from her chest and her hands would clench and unclench. These movements were the only indication of life in the girl.

Sherlock paced the room restlessly as John bent over Tilly. He waited for his niece to awaken, growing more and more worried with each passing moment. Finally, in frustration, he made a move for John's coat.

"You are not shooting holes in this wall." John said, not turning around. Sherlock huffed but ceased his reach for the gun.

"Shouldn't she have awoken by now?" Sherlock growled. John merely shook his head.

"It's common after a fright." He replied smoothly.

` "How could she have followed us?" Sherlock demanded. John figured this was a rhetorical question, but answered anyway.

"Despite your flaws, she seems to enjoy spending time with you, like I do." John said, placing a compress on Tilly's forehead. Sherlock stopped his pacing and looked at John.

"It's completely illogical for her to have followed me. She could've been killed." Sherlock blinked rapidly, the thought of not having the child around creating feelings of grief he found uncomfortable.

"I suppose she followed you for the same reason you went: a craving for excitement." John mused and before Sherlock could reply the child stirred.

Tilly's eyelids fluttered and she stretched on the bed. She sat up, the compress falling to the comforter. She glanced about the room, her eyes lighting on the two men. She let loose a relieved sigh. Without thinking, Sherlock reached down and hugged the tiny girl to his chest. She relaxed into the embrace. They stayed like that for a bit before the detective realized she had fallen asleep.

He chuckled a bit and carefully carried her to her own room. He tucked her in and placed her blanket beside her. (A comfort object since infancy, Sherlock had deduced) John waited and the two went to the common room to talk over the case thus far.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: Hello! This has been my favorite chapter to write so far, so I hope you enjoy. I wish all my readers every happiness.

* * *

Chapter 15

Tilly woke up from nightmares of red eyes and yellow lights. She looked around the dark room, panicking. Her heart pounded hard in her chest and her muscles seized painfully in terror. She was alone.

Ever since her parents' death, Tilly had felt abandoned. Of course, the logical part of her brain told her this was ridiculous. Her parents hadn't chosen to leave her, yet she still held a bit of anger at them with her grief.

The loneliness threatened to crush her, her breathing rapid. A whimper escaped her lips. Her mind reeled as it tried to calm her irrational terror, but to no avail. She clutched at her blanket as the door opened.

Sherlock walked in as quietly as he could. He had heard Tilly's distress and had come to check on her. He saw that she was sitting up, grey eyes wide with fright. He flipped on a lamp, her pupils shrinking in the light along with her fear. He sat on the edge of her bed.

Tilly waited for the yelling or lecturing or disappointment. She had disobeyed him, followed him on a dangerous case, and nearly been killed. She expected some form of scolding. Instead, she saw something strange in Sherlock's eyes: worry. She tilted her head inquisitively, terror long forgotten with the company and the brain work of solving such a conundrum.

Sherlock's curls were wilder than usual, indicating a lot of fuss. He usually ran his fingers through his hair in frustration (He fluffed it when he was especially pleased with himself or right after he took off a deerstalker, which she found adorable). His eyes were bloodshot, his face grim. His hands had the slightest tremor. Tilly gazed at him questioningly. Her uncle appeared almost…frightened. Sherlock wasn't afraid of anything.

But he _was _afraid. His most valuable resource had failed him. It had also put his niece, who he was surprised to find he cared about very much, in danger. He had seen something impossible, but she had seen it as well. He also felt something he thought nearly impossible for him, that being guilt. You couldn't feel much guilt if you didn't care what others thought, nor if you were always right. Yet, John made him feel it, because John mattered. Tilly now also had that effect, which startled and pleased Sherlock. Despite his blustering, Tilly had been correct when she had said that he cared; he enjoyed caring for people, though he was loathe to admit it.

Now, caring did seem a disadvantage. It was his fault that Tilly had come so close to being hurt. This information brought a weight onto his chest. He worried about John also, but Tilly was different. She was young and helpless, but her intelligence made her daring. Sherlock was terrified that she would run off into something so dangerous because it was exactly what he had done. His mind wandered to other habits of his and he vowed to keep away from those abominable activities for her sake.

"Uncle Sherlock?" Her timid question startled the detective from his thinking. He met her eyes.

"Yes, Tilly?" He asked. His voice was not unkind, yet it seemed hollow to her. She didn't like it.

"Can we save the row for tomorrow?" She joked, causing Sherlock to smile.

"I'm not going to start one, but I imagine that our doctor friend won't let you out on anymore missions." He answered, still smiling. Tilly looked relieved.

"Can you tell me a story? A happy one?" Tilly pleaded softly. Sherlock nodded.

"Of course. Once-" He started but Tilly interrupted.

"Not a _real_ story, though. Just a happy one." She clarified, and Sherlock chuckled.

"Alright, a not real story. Any other suggestions?" He smiled, amused. Tilly returned the smile.

"A love story." She finished, and Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, but her expression told him not to question it. He thought a moment, then began.

"Once, there was a kingdom. It was ruled by a kind and just King-"

"Greg." Tilly interjected. Sherlock looked confused and Tilly clarified. "King Greg Lestrade. Greg is his first name." Sherlock waited and she motioned for him to continue.

"It was ruled by King Greg, with his advisor Mycroft, who secretly ran everything." At this Tilly giggled, encouraging Sherlock.

"The King liked to keep his subjects safe, but it was sometimes difficult. Mycroft didn't help much, seeing as he loathed exercise." Tilly snorted with laughter at this. "So the King sent messengers out across the land, imploring help." Sherlock paused, imagining a happy ending, and somehow love to be added still, when Tilly interrupted again.

"And a wizard answered." She said, then waited for Sherlock to add on.

"And a wizard answered." He repeated, unaware of where she was going with this. She sighed in mock exasperation and went on.

"He was tall and imposing and wore a long robe of black with a blue collar. Some of the subjects were scared of his magic because he could tell everything with one glance. Silly people feared he could read minds." She smiled and Sherlock kept on.

"He answered King Greg's plea for help and arrived at the castle in a big puff of smoke-"

"As he enjoyed a dramatic entrance." Tilly joked.

"Who's telling the story?" Sherlock rebuffed playfully, and Tilly giggled before gesturing for him to continue once more.

"So he arrived at the castle and displayed his magic for the king. He was delighted, and begged the wizard to stay. He obliged. The wizard stayed in the kingdom for many years, living in the castle and keeping the kingdom safe. Everyone was happy." Sherlock stopped, and Tilly, sensing the story's end, urged him to continue.

"And then…" She said. He looked at her questioningly before recalling her last demand. He sighed.

"Though the wizard never told anyone, he often got lonely. He liked the King, tolerated his advisor, but had no real friends. Soon, his wing of the castle felt too big. So he decided to seek out a roommate." Tilly smiled, hoping for what was to come next.

"The wizard set off into the village and soon saw a little girl." Tilly looked at him curiously. She had been expecting John to appear next in the story.

"She was playing with a rabbit in the grass by the road, and her happy laughter would cause it to glow. She had a talent for amazing magic, especially because her laughter did something even more spectacular. It made the sad wizard smile." Sherlock saw Tilly's enraptured expression and went on.

"The wizard introduced himself to the girl. She said, 'I already know who you are,' before she offered him her hand. 'I'm Matilda the Magic, but call me Tilly or else I'll turn you into a toad.' The wizard assured her he would obey the rule." Sherlock chuckled as Tilly smirked playfully.

"He asked her if she would come to the castle and be his apprentice, and she accepted." Sherlock paused again.

"She had decided that he was as lonely as she was, and that being lonely together was much more fun than being lonely by one's self." Tilly said, not meeting his eyes.

"So the two were very happy together, saving the kingdom and having adventures, but also with a few quiet evenings at home. The end." Sherlock finished, but Tilly protested.

"You forgot the love part." She argued.

"No I didn't. The wizard and the apprentice became a family." He said, and Tilly smiled at this, but still shook her head.

"I like that part, honest. But it has to be a _true_ _love_ story." She added.

"You never said that when I started."

"It was implied." She grinned. Tilly could see Sherlock didn't quite know how to start the true love part, so she decided to help.

"The wizard was very happy with his apprentice, and she with him, but in his saving the kingdom, he often took her on dangerous missions. He feared for her safety often, but whenever he left her with her attendant Lady Hudson, she worried about him incessantly. And whenever she worried, she was inclined to follow him." Tilly took a breath and continued. "So he had to put a spell on her so she couldn't follow him, but then she was left to worry about him day and night."

"The spell only said that she couldn't follow the wizard unless he let her, so one day she set off into town by herself. She hoped to find something to protect the wizard. Instead, she found someone to do just that." She looked to Sherlock, who had caught on by this point and gave in, continuing his niece's story line.

"There she met a soldier returning from a war in a far off land. He was smaller than the wizard and muscular from his days in the army. His hair looked golden in the sun, and his eyes were the blue of the sky. She used her magic and saw that he had a brave spirit, as well as a kind heart. He was also an accomplished healer, but like all healers at the time, he could heal all but himself. She saw his limp and detected his pained shoulder, knowing that the wizard could help him and be helped by him." Sherlock stopped, afraid he was revealing too much, even to himself. Tilly, unabashed, continued.

"So she invited the man back to the castle, claiming that the wizard was in need of his expertise. The man was kind enough to oblige, and a bit curious. He had heard talk of the wizard in whispers along his journey. Most had warned him to beware and stay away, but he thought that since this child adored the wizard that he couldn't be a bad person." Tilly said this last bit shyly. Sherlock felt a wave of warmth towards her.

"So the soldier met the wizard and the two instantly took a liking to each other. The wizard cured the soldier of his limp and eased the pain in his shoulder and the soldier in turn helped to ease the pain in the wizard's mind. The soldier was happy to accompany the wizard on his adventures, allowing the apprentice to worry less. The three of them became quite fond of each other, and they lived together happily for many years." Sherlock again tried to end the story, but Tilly quirked an eyebrow. He complied, continuing.

"Though the wizard could sometimes be hard to understand, the soldier didn't seem to mind. The wizard admired the soldier's bravery and kindness. He became more enamored with the soldier as time went on-" Sherlock was interrupted by Tilly

"And the soldier with him." She said confidently. Sherlock by this time knew not to argue.

"So while on an adventure, the soldier and the wizard faced a great danger. It was bigger than any they'd ever faced, and soon the soldier was captured. The wizard was distraught at the thought of losing his friend, and it was then that he realized his love for the other man." Sherlock thought over his own words, embarrassed, but Tilly appeared unfazed.

"And the wizard put all his feelings into a spell to save the soldier, and it was so powerful that the great evil vanished forever." Tilly said, and Sherlock wished that were true.

"With the casting of the spell, the soldier understood how much the wizard cared for him. Once the evil was vanquished, the two embraced. The end." The little girl yawned, satisfied with her ending.

"Not quite." Sherlock countered, and Tilly perked up, eager for more details.

"The two embraced, and then they shared true love's kiss." Sherlock added, almost wistfully. Tilly tried to hold back a triumphant grin.

"Everyone was so happy that the kingdom threw a party. Lady Hudson danced, the King and his court cheered, and even Mycroft smiled. The apprentice was so happy that she caused the whole kingdom to be filled with fairy lights-"

"Which floated into the sky and became the stars." Sherlock added. Seeing her look of confusion, he explained. "You said it couldn't be a real story, remember?" Tilly smiled.

"The end." They both said. Tilly yawned again and allowed Sherlock to tuck her in. He left, flipping off the light, leaving Tilly to dream of fairy lights and parties and a happy wizard and his soldier.

* * *

In the next room, the soldier scrambled to feign sleep in order to fool the wizard into thinking he hadn't heard the story. Still, he couldn't help but smile.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: New chapter, yay. Now everyone panic as they realize that the Reichenbach Fall is coming...But so is the happy ending and Johnlock!

Chapter 16

"Greg!" Tilly cried, leaping into the arms of the detective inspector.

"Hello there, little one." He swung her around and she laughed. Sherlock and John looked on, Sherlock with a confused expression and John all too pleased with himself.

"Who?" Sherlock whispered, causing John to roll his eyes.

"Greg is Lestrade's first name." John answered. Sherlock recalled Tilly explaining it to him and couldn't hold back his smile.

"Ah, of course." Sherlock answered. He then proceeded to adopt false aggravation at Lestrade's presence. Tilly was set on the ground as the men bantered. She sighed.

Greg left to speak to the owners and John turned to her.

"No more following us on cases, you hear?" John chastised, and Tilly nodded.

"We can't protect you if we don't know you're there. This is why people need friends." John noticed Tilly's excited expression and cut her off.

"No, you cannot come on cases if we know that you're there." Tilly frowned then tried again before John cut her off more forcefully.

"_No,_ you cannot use friends to help solve crimes." John said. Tilly pouted.

"Uncle Sherlock does." She whined.

"I don't care if Sherlock uses his friends to help with cases, you can't." John stated again.

"I don't have friends." Sherlock stated, adopting his thinking pose. Tilly tensed and John deflated a bit before turning his anger to Sherlock.

"Of course not. I wonder why?" He mused, before storming out of the inn. Sherlock stared after him in confusion. Tilly looked after John sadly before turning to her uncle.

"Go after him." She pointed. Sherlock exhaled in disbelief.

"_I_ know what you meant, but _he_ didn't. Now go." She stomped her foot and pointed to the door. Sherlock left, slamming the door. Tilly nodded, smiling a bit. Maybe now Sherlock would say something…

"What was that?" Greg wandered back in, having heard the noise.

"The world's thickest genius managed to bung things up." Tilly said, a bit wearily. Greg chuckled.

"He has a tendency to do that."

John stormed off, the wind whipping his jacket about. Of course the detective didn't have friends. He was an idiot for thinking that Sherlock could have liked him at least _that_ much. For hoping for something a bit more than friends as well.

"John!" Sherlock called as he jogged after him. John sighed and turned.

"What Sherlock?" He snapped. He almost thought he saw hurt cross the detective's face, but he blinked and it was gone.

"Listen. What I said before, John, I meant it. I don't have friends. I've just got one." His gaze locked on Sherlock's and he saw a glimpse of the emotions that Sherlock often hid. It overwhelmed the doctor, all the hope and affection he saw there.

"Right." It was all he could manage to say, Sherlock's words striking a cord inside him. All he could think was that _he mattered_. He mattered to the ridiculous, infuriating, and wonderful bloke in front of him.

"John? John! You are amazing, you are fantastic!" Sherlock shouted, running after him.

"Yes, yes. Alright." John feigned indifference.

Lestrade and Tilly observed from the window.

"In the movies, when one person runs after the other, they usually kiss." Tilly stated blatantly. Lestrade looked over at her, then chuckled as he turned back to the window.

"Life is a bit more complicated." Lestrade added. Tilly sulked, watching as Sherlock and John merely kept talking.

"It shouldn't be." She said. Lestrade looked at her, then back to the two men who obviously drove each other mad, at the same time they made the other happy.

"It really shouldn't." He answered. Tilly pushed the curtains back in place as John and Sherlock returned.

The two men waltzed in, now at ease. Tilly held back a groan of frustration. She skipped up to her uncle, tugging at his coat sleeve impatiently.

"Can we tell Greg about my clue _now_?" She whined. Sherlock smiled at her.

"Of course." He said before handing Greg the receipt. Greg scanned it, intrigued. Tilly watched as it was found out that the proprietors had procured a dog in order to insight business. They told the group that they had put the dog down.

What caught Tilly's attention was Sherlock making John a cup of coffee. She found it sweet.

"Hello, brother dear." Sherlock said into the phone. John and Tilly rolled their eyes. Lestrade had gone off to see the local force.

"I was wondering if I could have access…" Sherlock stopped as Mycroft started speaking. "No, this isn't for anything unnecessary…That's hardly fair." The detective muttered. Tilly sighed and gestured for the phone. Sherlock shook his head. Tilly stamped her foot and demanded the phone. Sherlock turned it over.

"Hi, Uncle Myc." Tilly said brightly. Sherlock scoffed and John nudged him.

"Pleeeeeeaaaasssssseee." Tilly begged. She grinned before handing the phone back to her uncle.

"You can have twenty-four hours." Mycroft told Sherlock. Sherlock blinked in surprise as Mycroft hung up.

"You're welcome." Tilly smiled. "Now do I get to go to the secret lab?"

"No." Sherlock and John answered. Tilly sulked.

As John and Sherlock got ready to go to Baskerville, Tilly sat on their bed and fiddled with a notepad. Sherlock left to get something from the car. John packed a few of his clothes back up, assuming that the case would be solved soon.

"John?" A meek voice asked. He turned to find the big grey eyes looking at him fearfully.

"Yes, Tilly?" He responded softly, wondering what was wrong.

"Does it help with your nightmares? Sleeping with the gun under your pillow, I mean." She returned her gaze to her notes. John shouldn't have been surprised by now, but he still had a note of awe in his voice as he replied.

"How can you tell that? Wrinkle in my pillow case? Imprint near my ear?" He laughed a bit at his guesses. Tilly just looked at him like he was being stupid. She merely pointed behind her. The butt of his gun was currently poking from under the hotel pillow on his side of the bed.

"Oh." He said, and Tilly nodded. She had been hoping to be taken seriously.

"It helps me, yes. But the nightmares are different for everyone." He said. She glanced at her notepad. She held it up for John to see.

_No one has said sorry yet._

It took John a moment to understand what she meant. He sighed and went to sit beside her. He offered her a questioning look and she made no move to avoid his touch, so he lifted the tiny girl into his lap. She leaned into his touch.

"Did they get worse, after we came here?" John asked and she nodded into his chest.

"You made me ride in the-the…" But she couldn't even say it. John hugged her tighter.

"I really am sorry. It was too far to walk and I figured since you were asleep that you wouldn't notice." He explained. She sighed and snuggled into him. His jumper material was soft against her cheek. Soon she was asleep. John wondered how much sleep she had lost, since she was tired enough to nap while the sun was up.

Sherlock ambled back into the room. He noticed John gazing fondly at the sleeping girl in his arms. He wondered what had brought this on, but then decided to just store it in his mind palace and enjoy it.

"Sherlock," John whispered. "I don't think we should leave her. She's still upset about having to take the car here, plus I'm sure the hound didn't help things." He added.

"John, there was no way we could've let her walk here." He reasoned. John sighed.

"I know, but she's still a child. She needs to be looked after when she's frightened." He stroked her hair before looking pointedly at Sherlock.

"We just have to solve this case. Then everything will be better." He sat next to John.

"Alright. I'll just tuck her in then." John carried Tilly back to her room and Sherlock watched them go. He had worried about Tilly, just not enough apparently.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: Hint: Johnlock approaches. After a bit of drama. I in no way own Sherlock. (Duh) Enjoy, and I love reviews, follows, or favorites.

* * *

Chapter 17

She started out okay. She listened as John's gentle voice turned into that of her father's.

_"__Goodnight, love." He brushed back her hair._

_ "__Do you have to go?" She whimpered as he tucked her in._

_ "__We'll be back soon, dear." Her mother kissed her goodnight._

_The dream changed to the familiar headlights approaching. She called for the car to stop, to turn back, but it kept coming closer. She screamed as the headlights bore down on her, before the roar of an engine turned into a beastly growl. The headlights became blood red eyes._

It was a relief when the vision was shattered by the incessant pounding on her door. Groggily she got up, throwing on fresh clothes before tying her back. She opened the door to a disgruntled Greg Lestrade.

"Wha-" She yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"No time. Sherlock and John went down to the moor. Henry snapped and he has a gun. We need to go, now." He said hurriedly, thrusting her trainers at her. She slipped them on and followed him out the door.

She froze at the sight of the car. The headlights seemed to glare at her in the fading light of the evening. Greg looked back after noticing her pause.

"We need to leave." He called, reaching for his door handle.

"I can't." Tilly said, ashamed at the way her voice trembled.

"Bloody hell." He muttered. His hand gripped his hair in frustration before looking at the road ahead, then back to Tilly.

"I'll stay back." She assured him. He looked unsure, glancing from her to the moor.

"Go after them. They need you." She said firmly. Lestrade got behind the wheel and left. Tilly watched as he turned around the bend before breaking into a run.

Normally, there wasn't any way that she could beat a car. But whereas Lestrade was confined to the roads, Tilly could head straight across the fields and into the moorland.

She was going to be in somuch trouble later.

* * *

"Henry, it's not real!" Sherlock shouted at the frantic man. His animal screams cut through the fog as he circled, gun pointing outward. It was an improvement from his own skull. Until a growl cut across the hollow.

Henry screamed and shot blindly at the source of the sound. The growling continued to throb through the air, and rustling proceeded to Sherlock's right. The detective leapt aside as Henry fired at the noise.

Sherlock heard a faint shriek- a _human_ shriek- before he began to panic. The shriek had been female and based on the high frequency adolescent. The remaining truth was that Matilda was currently in the hollow, surrounded by a deranged man, a sociopath, a trigger happy doctor, a monstrous hound, and the damn fog- couldn't see a bloody thing.

"The fog! It's the fog, John!" Sherlock cried.

"There's a drug in the fog. The hound isn't real, you're just hallucinating, Henry. Fear and stimulus, that's how it works." Sherlock seemed to be getting through to the man. Lestrade burst in at that point, quickly covering his mouth with his sleeve.

The hound let loose a ferocious bark, three armed men training weapons on the sound. Sherlock heard a scuffling to his left now, recognizing the sound of his niece trying to evade the monster.

Which was what she was attempting to do before her muscles betrayed her.

She had run into the hollow just as Sherlock convinced Henry Knight not to shoot himself. It had been Tilly who had first noticed the hound. She had lain motionless, hoping for the animal to pass her by, but its growling alerted her to the fact that it knew she was there.

She had screamed as the gunshots flew. There was a slight burning in her left side, but her heart was pumping too quickly to pay much attention. She tried to think of some way to reach a semblance of safety. She dismissed climbing a tree and running away. She was too short to climb and she couldn't leave Sherlock, not that she was much help.

She heard the plodding of the dog's footsteps. She caught her uncle shouting something about fear. Well, she had plenty of that at the moment.

Creeping backwards cautiously, she decided that she needed to reach the center of the hollow. There, she had the protection of Sherlock and John.

The hound let loose a terrifying bark as it bounded towards her. She turned and ran before gravity and the downward slope combined and she took a horrid tumble. Her hands encased her head protectively as she cowered on the ground. The series of gunshots ensued, eliciting pained howls from the beast until the hollow was quiet.

"Not you! Not you!" Sherlock screamed, and Tilly dared not move for fear he meant her. When she did look up, Sherlock was facing a figure in a gasmask. Tilly surmised that he was responsible when Sherlock shook his head and said something to Henry. Henry pounced on the malicious figure.

"The weapon and the scene of the crime all at once." Sherlock said in awe, before a whimper drew him from his musings.

Tilly's side now burned horribly, ad she clutched it tightly. She noted the feeling of wetness on her fingers. Her mind seemed to be racing ahead and going much to slow all at once. It called for her to staunch the bleeding, but all she could managed to do was eek out a small cry.

"Papa!" It was feeble at best, but Sherlock was to her side in an instant, urging John after him. John tried to survey her with his torch, but all attention turned as the masked man made his escape. A pursuit ensued, the motion releasing a new wave of fog.

The explosion rang out in the night and she began to cry. Her fear at being alone intensified as burning wreckage seemed to appear throughout the hollow. She imagined being strapped down and thrashed about, trying to free herself of the pressure.

* * *

"Sherlock, hold her down." John said as Tilly continued to fight him. Sherlock reluctantly tried to keep the child in place.

"Give me your scarf." He demanded and Sherlock complied. The cloth was pressed into the wound, but it was more difficult with the child attempting to break free.

"Fear and stimulus, John. It's too much for her system." Sherlock deduced. He looked imploringly at his friend. He was on the verge of panic and had no idea how to fix this.

"Carry her. We're too far from a hospital, I'll have to treat her at the inn." Sherlock did as John instructed, managing to bundle Tilly out of the hollow. It became easier to carry her as her thrashing became more and more feeble, worrying the detective.

The car raced off into the night, the doctor at the wheel and the brilliant detective for once at a loss. His niece lay possibly dying and there wasn't a thing he could do.

John had come prepared. Tilly was bustled up their room as quickly as possible. John proceeded to analyze the damage-_bullet grazing to the side of the abdomen. _The wound sterilized, stitches administered, bandages applied, as far as injuries went it was quick work.

When he finished, Sherlock had taken the still shaking frame in his arms and rocked her gently. John looked on, watching his patient as a good doctor should. He listened as Sherlock babbled on about 'blasted spells' and 'if only there were magic' and the something about 'letting the soldier follow the wizard instead'. Soon, John sat next to Sherlock on the bed, wrapping a comforting arm around his best friend. Sherlock leaned into the touch gratefully.

They sat like that for a long while, long after Tilly had fallen into a pain-killer induced sleep and they had delivered her to her own room. Upon returning, they resumed the comforting position without question.

The two men were exhausted beyond belief. Sherlock's vision was blurry and John blinked hard, trying to force his eyes into alertness. Neither was prepared to sleep, yet their reason for struggling to remain conscious was slipping.

Sherlock heard John sigh and turned his head to focus his gaze on John's lips. They were seashell pink, and blearily Sherlock wondered if they were as soft as they looked. John was still blinking, trying to focus on anything other than the snapshots his mind seemed to be taking. Sherlock's grey eyes. Lightly colored, cupid bow lips. Full and rich and…he blinked again. He was supposed to be focused on something…

Later, neither man would remember who had initiated the movement. All that registered was the soft bumping of mouths together. It was sleepy and clumsy, but all either could think was _yes, the lips _were _that soft._ Sherlock felt John's scent envelop him and John groaned into Sherlock's mouth as he twined his fingers in the luscious curls. At this, Sherlock leaned further into the kiss. Everything was soft and new. They kiss was sweet and tender, as both men had revelations about the other and what they wanted.

They broke apart, eyes locking. Sherlock looked ashamed and John frowned, unable to fathom why the detective would be so unhappy at something that John had found amazing.

"Not good?" Sherlock whispered, not meeting John's eyes. He feared rejection, anger, and the thought of losing John was too much, even if the weight of his secret was lifted.

"No." John said and Sherlock's world crumbled.

"Bloody brilliant." John titled Sherlock's chin up before kissing those impossibly full lips again. His fingers took the opportunity to rest on the sharp cheekbones and Sherlock found his hands brushing the soft hairs at the nape of John's neck.

Sherlock soon found himself horizontal, his head resting against John's shoulder. Their breathing mingled, and they reveled in the feeling of closeness. Sherlock's arms pressed against John and the doctor's arms wrapped protectively about the detective.

Sherlock let out a sleepy sigh just as john was nodding off.

"And the whole kingdom was filled with fairy lights." He yawned as he feel asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: Everyone prepare to cry. Poor Johnlock. Don't fret, I assure all readers that there is a happy ending. Love you guys, love the reviews/favorites/follows. I'm so happy to report that yesterday was this story's record for most views at 505! Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 18

She had woken up in her bed at the inn and wandered downstairs to find John and Sherlock by the fireplace, holding hands. She had smiled and made her way back up to her room. _Finally_.

When they got back, John had her make an appointment with his therapist. She talked about how she didn't like cars. She said she liked to run, sparking a long conversation about running from the pain of her past. She had barely survived the boredom. Sherlock assured her she wouldn't have to go back.

Another change was that she was given a phone. Sherlock explained to her as he handed it over a week after the return from Baskerville.

"Text me if you're late from school or early. Also, if you are in trouble, call. If you're attempting to follow us while on a case, text so I can make sure that you don't end up getting shot at this time." He said dryly. Tilly had smiled, taken the phone, and hugged him. He still found the sensation odd, but between receiving hugs from Tilly and John he was beginning to enjoy it.

The three settled once more into a domestic routine, only slightly different than before. When they watched telly, Sherlock snuggled up to John on the sofa, John had his arm around the detective, and she sat on the floor by their feet, content. Sherlock rarely claimed to be bored, and when he did, it sparked a light kiss on the lips from John. They often held hands at Angelo's and Sherlock even reduced the number of body parts in the fridge, though just barely. (After all, if he changed completely, he wouldn't be the man John had fallen in love with)

Baker Street was a happier domain than it had ever been. Of course, every fairytale needs its good old-fashioned villain, and so the wizard, the apprentice, and the soldier were to face theirs.

* * *

No one officially told her about James Moriarty, but she gathered enough information. Upon hearing the news of 'Get Sherlock' fear settled in her small frame. She saw the trial on telly, watching as the man who didn't seem human walked free. Sherlock was thankful that Moriarty had visited whilst Tilly was at school. Later, she had seen the grotesque apple in the trashcan. Her uncles (that was how she thought of them now) were rarely ever home, and everyone felt the dread pressing about like an oppressive fog.

Then Sherlock had grown antsy when working a child kidnapping. As a result, she was put on lockdown. She was either to be at school or with Mrs. Hudson. She was not allowed to be alone at any time. Her body screamed for freedom, but she recognized that if she was to help her uncle, she had to stay safe.

She had watched as the press claimed Sherlock was a fraud, that her uncle was a fake. Once, she even got into a fight with Anderson. He had been telling Greg about how Sherlock had kidnapped the children and that he belonged in a cell. She had promptly kicked him in the shin. John had managed to lift her away from the rat-faced man, her legs kicking wildly in the air as she fought to be released from his grip.

"Bloody psychos!" Anderson yelled at Tilly and Sherlock, clutching his throbbing leg.

"Shut up!" She shrieked. "You shut up, moronic filth."

"Matilda." John said sternly, but Tilly paid him no mind.

"Can't you see? He's playing you all. Stop being idiots and try to understand." She struggled in John's grip, not caring that she was making a scene or acting immature.

"John, get her out of here." Greg commanded, and the doctor carried the fussing six year old out of the Yard. Sherlock gazed around the precinct, all the hatred for him written on the faces of his enemies. He sighed and turned on his heel.

John placed the squirming child on the ground. He started to chastise her, but she shot a glance at Sherlock before turning and running off. John looked alarmed, but Sherlock merely placed a hand on his shoulder before hailing a cab for them.

"How could you possibly know where she's going?" He asked, bewildered.

"She's going to the morgue to seek advice from the only person she knows believes her fully: Molly Hooper." Sherlock said wearily.

"Believes her about what, exactly?"

"That I am in fact innocent and in full possession of my gifts of observation." Sherlock explained, leaning into John.

"Oh." John replied. They arrived at the morgue to find Tilly sitting in Molly's office at the computer. John leaned against the counter and Sherlock bounced a ball he had gotten from Tilly on the floor. Molly looked at the detective and crouched next to him on the ground.

"Are you alright?" She wondered. Sherlock glanced at her.

"Yes." He went back to his game.

"Because you look sad, when you think that they can't see you." Her gaze wandered to the respective figures of Sherlock's boyfriend and niece.

"If you need any help, I'm here." She finished, standing up to go back to her work.

John stood upright suddenly. He grabbed his coat before turning to Sherlock.

"It's Mrs. Hudson. There was an accident." He was panicking, and Tilly immediately jumped up and ran to the doctor's side.

"Go on then." He waved John away.

"You aren't coming?" John asked from the doorway. His expression was hurt.

"No." He still didn't look up. He could almost feel the gazes boring into him.

"Oh. Okay then." John snapped, hustling Tilly out of the door. It was then that Sherlock told Molly of his plans. Once all the details were laid out, he texted Moriarty.

* * *

John fumed in the cab on the way to Mrs. Hudson's flat. Tilly's mind also wandered to thoughts of her uncle as she ran, but of a different sort. It was obvious how much he cared; she had heard the story of the American spy 'falling' from a window from Lestrade. So why wasn't he coming to the rescue?

The reason struck both of them as they stormed into the flat, only to find Mrs. Hudson laughing with a burly repair man.

"Oh, hullo dears." She said, then noticed the alarm on their faces. Tilly didn't speak; she grabbed John's hand and dragged him into the street.

She placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly, hailing them a cab. John gave her an astonished look, but she rolled her eyes in a _not now_ gesture. Taking a deep breath, she braved the confines of the vehicle.

"Bart's Hospital. Hurry." She said curtly, clutching the seat as the cabbie stepped on the accelerator. The London traffic was horrid as always, but they made it back faster than they would have on foot. She pulled a wad of bills from her pocket, tossing them at the driver before dragging John to the street. It was there she heard the shot and she searched for the source of the sound. Her eyes came to rest on Sherlock on the lip of the building.

John's mobile rang.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: Tada! Moving towards the happy ending, promise. You guys are all fantastic for reading this, and I really hope you like it. Again, eventual Johnlock. Chapter is not as sad as you think, but I like to hope it seems sweet. Shout out to you guys at the end.

* * *

A promise.

That was all she had now. As she stared into the face of her uncle, she wondered if it was enough, now that he was back.

Tilly had watched as John talked on the phone with him. Sherlock had stood on the lip of the roof. What John hadn't seen was the sniper positioned in the window of a building opposite. She saw it though, wondering if that was why. But he was Sherlock, couldn't he think of a better plan, one that didn't involve dying?

She'd taken the phone, only whispering two words.

"You promised."

She got two words in reply.

"I know."

The phone call was his note to the world and then he jumped. John had run to the body, calling his name. Tilly just stood there. Sherlock had known that she would. When John fell, she had the insane thought that the sniper had shot him, that she was alone in the world. It was at that point that she had screamed. Sherlock, pretending to be a dead body, struggled not to flinch at the sound that clawed at his heart.

When John stood, Tilly collapsed in relief. She wasn't alone. Someone was there for her. John ran for Sherlock and Tilly ran for them both. She felt the tears flow as John pitifully called 'He's my friend.' She knew it was more.

They'd taken the body away. She got arrested for breaking into the morgue to try and see it, but the yard had let her go. Molly ignored her calls. Sally and Anderson wouldn't meet her eye. Greg just looked at her sadly.

She had been with John and Mrs. Hudson at the grave. After watching John as he made his desperate plea to the tombstone, she had made her own speech.

"You promised me that you would always come back. I'm going to hold you to that. I won't try to bribe you, say that I'll be good or that I'll try harder or that I'll always love you. Right now, I hate you. You _left_. You not only left me, you left John. All of us, John, me, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly, we all _loved _you. And that wasn't good enough, apparently. So when you come back..." Her fists were clenched at her sides as she struggled not to cry.

"When you come back-and you are coming back…" She told the cold stone in front of her. She sighed.

"If you want incentive, just know-just know that," At this point, she did begin to cry, her breath coming in quick sobs. "I won't _ever_ let you leave again." She reached out a hand, palm up, as if expecting the specter of Sherlock to take it. Then she hugged the tombstone, trying to impress the letters into her skin.

No one came for her. John and Mrs. Hudson just watched the spectacle she made, not able to hear her words to the detective. The only other attendee suffered in silence, hiding among the tombstones and reaching a hand out to his niece. He would keep his promise.

Now, as he stood in front of her in the apartment, it seemed he had.

John had moved in with some girl as soon as possible. Mycroft had the legal title of guardian now, but she was left in Mrs. Hudson's care. Tilly had the entire Baker Street flat to herself. She had mostly slept in Sherlock's bed, and had wept the day that it no longer carried his scent.

Tilly had been left alone for two years. She had gone to school, facing the taunts and then the pity as Sherlock's innocence was made public. She came home, food from Mrs. Hudson left on the table that she barely touched. She only played the piano at school or when Mrs. Hudson wasn't home. It only made the kind woman upset. John rarely visited. She felt the hope for his or Sherlock's return diminish every day, the certainty of abandonment a vice on her soul.

Now he stood in front of her. He was leaner, his hair freshly trimmed so that the once wild curls lay tame. His grey eyes were weary. His pale skin, once flawless ivory, was marred by various scars. She took all this in and with a blink her anger surfaced fiercely, telling her to react, to lash out.

"You know where your room is." She said coldly. She walked away, leaving him in the doorway. She shut the door to her room and listened as he moved around the flat. She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes and she fought not to cry. She hadn't even decided if she forgave him. Then she laughed a bit to herself. Of course she did, the second he walked in. The second she noticed a flash of black fabric near the tombstone. The second he said goodbye. The second she noticed the sniper. She had forgiven him every second of every day, because she couldn't live without him.

She only came out of her forced isolation upon hearing the first notes of a violin. Just like that first time two years ago, she made her way into the front room softly. She took a seat on her chair and watched as he played the song that she had written him, months ago. She didn't bother to wonder how he knew it.

When he finished, she noticed the wetness streaking down her cheeks. She looked up at him and saw his eyes betraying his desperate hope. He turned his back to put away the violin. As he faced her again, she jumped from her perch and launched herself across the few feet that separated them. She wrapped her arms around his middle tightly and he returned the embrace.

Sherlock took note of all the changes. Tilly was taller now, based on the position of her head in relation to him during their hug. Her hair was long and the auburn curls were wild. She gripped him tightly for her still small frame, and he surmised that she had taken up a new hobby, some form of exercise. Her fingers showed a healing of the calluses that came with piano practices, which he found saddening. He hoped that she might still play for him.

They stood like that for a long time, neither willing to part from the other.

"Is this what you meant by never letting me go?" Sherlock asked softly, smiling. She gazed up at him and nodded.

"You kept your promise." She said, nuzzling into his coat.

"Of course I did." Sherlock replied. "Now, tell me everything."

Tilly led him by the hand to the sofa, gesturing for him to sit. He did and she took a seat next to him, snuggling against his side. She breathed in his scent as if to assure herself that he was real.

"I don't have to tell you, you saw it already." She said. "You tell me, and I'll let you know if you got it right." She rested her head against him.

"You got taller." He started, and Tilly smirked playfully.

"Great deduction."

"I'm not finished yet. You aren't playing piano as much as you used to, but you've been filling your time with some sort of sport." He felt her nod.

"Kind of. Mrs. Hudson cried when I played, so I only do it at school now. I also like ballet." She looked up at him and continued with her version of current events.

"Mycroft is technically my guardian now, but since you're here that can be easily remedied. Mrs. Hudson takes care of me. John rarely visits." She whispered this last part, unsure if Sherlock knew that he had been replaced.

"Mycroft told me. How is John?" He asked slowly, as if dreading the answer.

"He's better. But he has this girl now, Mary or Margaret or something. He thinks he loves her."

"Oh." Sherlock replied. He had seen occasionally of course, courtesy of his homeless network, snapshots of John and a petite blond woman. The doctor had moved in with her to get away from Baker Street.

Tilly saw his distress and hugged him around the middle.

"Don't worry, Uncle Sherlock," Warmth raced through her as she now had a tangible person to place with the name. "He'll come back once he sees you."

"I don't think he will." The detective seemed defeated, and she would have none of that.

"Come on," She stood up and tugged him off the couch. "You are going to go get the git and apologize and everything will be all better."

"I don't know where to start." The detective muttered, just as Tilly fired off a text to Mycroft. Seconds later her phone pinged.

"Here's the address," She forwarded him the text, before remembering that _she_ had his phone in her room. She grabbed it and handed it to him quickly.

"Okay, scarf, coat, collar flipped, hair mussed." She looked over Sherlock as she stood on her chair. Upon reaching the last item, she fussed with the curls herself.

"You're all set." She grinned and began to shove him out the door.

"Tilly, I don't know if I can." Sherlock said, a bit overwhelmed. His heart raced at the thought of seeing John again. He imagined the blue eyes meeting his. Would he find hatred there? Anger? Dare he think, maybe, love?

Tilly stopped her shoving and moved to stand in front of her uncle. Her gray eyes were steely.

"Sherlock Holmes, that is your soldier out there. He has fought for you countless times over the years. Now it is your turn to go and fight for him." She pointed to the door, commanding him to leave.

"When did you become so wise?" Sherlock asked the question sincerely. Tilly rolled her eyes, smiling.

"I've been waiting for this happy ending for a _very_ long time. Now off you pop." And with those final words, she flung open the door to 221B and pushed the detective through the threshold. Closing the door, she leaned back on the wood and slid down to the floor. She let out a relieved sigh, happier than she had been in, well, years.

_I hope it goes well,_ she thought. _It seems like _everyone_ has been waiting for them to just get together already._


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note: Yay, more! Missed you guys, sorry it took so long! Enjoy!

Chapter 20

Sherlock glanced down at the address again. He checked the posh building in front of him. He imagined John inside. This caused his mind to flood with all the possible scenarios. He personally favored the one where John swept him up in his arms and kissed him. Wishful thinking, of course, but not a bad idea.

His hand reached into the pocket of his coat and he touched his charm for luck, though luck was an impossible construct created to provide comfort for simple-minded people unlike himself. He refused to believe that he was nervous as he strode inside.

* * *

John Watson sat at the table, fiddling with the two rings in his pocket. One was a simple platinum band. It was smooth and still glimmered in the light, a result of being regularly polished. It had been painstakingly searched for, measurements secretly taken, all in the pursuit of a happier life.

The other was gold, the metal slightly tarnished, with a small diamond resting in the center. It was this ring that was going to see the light of day.

John watched Mary Morstan as she walked down the stairs. He liked her, he really did. He had long ago stopped trying to label himself, gay, straight, by, it all made no sense to him anymore. All that had made sense was gone.

Now, with Mary, he was content. He liked her, he repeated to himself. She was kind and thoughtful, and always of a cheery disposition. Almost the opposite of…

John sighed. His thoughts always drifted that way. He fiddled with the platinum ring once more, almost picturing it.

_"__You know I detest these places." Sherlock scoffed and looked around irritably. John took the detective's hand across the table. The detective rolled his eyes, but made no move to retract his hand. John smiled, seeing the slight upturn of Sherlock's lips._

_ "__I also know you enjoy your tuxedos." The doctor grinned, causing Sherlock's smile to grow a tad. _

_ "__Picked up on that did you?" He chuckled._

_ "__Yes, I did. I also picked up on the fact that you look terribly handsome in one." John quirked an eyebrow playfully. Sherlock did let loose his smile now, allowing John a glimpse of the utter joy on his face._

_ "__So, can you think of any other occasions that may require a suit such as that?" John asked, his hand going towards his pocket. Sherlock's thinking face appeared, his grey eyes blazing. His fingers closed around the ring just as Sherlock's mouth made a little oh of surprise._

"Sorry that took so long." The warm voice shocked him out of his daydreams. It soothed the pain of the realization that seemed to reassert itself every second. Sherlock was dead.

"No, it's alright." He glanced about, wondering where the waiter was with the champagne.

John went into his speech, with Mary being the best thing that could've happened to him. She made a joke and he laughed, feeling a bit happier.

His hand closed around the gold band, feeling for the diamond. He smiled at her. Mary smiled softly back, and he made to pull out the ring. With that, the champagne arrived.

"No, we're fine." John tried to shoo the man away. He needed to do this, before he lost his nerve. Before the grief tried to drown him again.

"It is like staring into the face of an old friend." The Frenchman pulled the glasses from his face, and John looked into the grey eyes that had haunted his nightmares and graced his dreams. His heart rate slowed, then kicked up.

Emotions raged war with each other within the confines of his skin. The winner was anger. His fist slammed on the table. The detective jumped slightly.

Sherlock had seen John angry at him before, he had even seen him this angry. The two of them together, though, was not something he enjoyed. He tried to cover his fear with humor about John's facial hair. It really did look bad on him; it detracted from his eyes.

Sherlock saw the rage distorting John's facial features. His eyes were glaring, his jaw clenched and stiff; Sherlock should've been more afraid. Bust his joy at seeing John was too much, overwhelming him to where the great detective babbled like a nervous school boy.

"Well, short version: not dead. I didn't mean to spring it on you, could've given you a heart attack. Probably still will, in my defense it was very funny." He trailed off, seeing John's face. He tried not to let his disappointment show.

"Not a great defense…" Sherlock added, causing John to look down at the table. Mary was trying to get John to speak, having little success as his breathing became more rapid.

John was allowing anger to win, because if he wasn't being angry, he would probably have to hug the git in front of him. _He was alive. Hell, he was alive and in a tuxedo._ John cursed the universe for replaying part of his ridiculous fantasy. He had the ring, now he had the detective…What more could he want?

"Is yours rub off too?" Sherlock asked, smiling. John's heart quivered at the sight.

"Two years." John breathed then groaned. "You let me grieve. How could you do that?" He looked up Sherlock, hoping, desperately hoping, for an answer that would justify forgiving the detective. More than anything, he just wanted a reason to put Sherlock back in his life.

"Just one question before you do something you might regret." Sherlock answered, _still_ too nervous and giddy at seeing John to sense just how much danger he was in.

"Are you really going to keep that?"

* * *

"I said I'm sorry, isn't that what you're supposed to do?" Sherlock whined as Tilly fussed about him. After being thrashed repeatedly by the army doctor, he had come home, utterly defeated.

"Uncle Sherlock, you must've done it wrong. You made jokes about the mustache, didn't you?" Tilly noticed his guilty expression and sighed

"You did. No, no, head forward." She handed him a rag for his nose bleed, then tended to his split lip. She eased off his suit jacket and examined the darkening bruises around his neck. A whistle of admiration echoed around the flat.

"You must've _really_ done it." She added, and Sherlock made an irritated noise before letting out a hiss of pain.

"I don't understand. _You_ didn't attack me when I came home." He said from behind the cloth. Tilly sighed in exasperation.

"It's different when it's true love." The child explained, and Sherlock didn't protest.

* * *

"Are you going to see him again?" Mary joked when she and John returned to the flat.

"No, I'm not." John went back to shaving. Mary sighed.

"Six months of bristly kisses for me-"

"I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes." John shouted back.

"You should put that on a T-shirt." She quipped, and John responded with a 'shut up'.

"Or what?" She challenged half-heartedly.

"Or I'll marry ya." John responded, not looking up from the sink. Mary smiled, but shook her head.

"No you won't." She laughed softly, in a wistful sort of way. John looked up, once again clean shaven, in surprise.

"What do you mean?" He was truly dumbfounded.

"John, I saw the way you looked at Sherlock. Just before you got angry, you were so utterly hopeful. And even when you did get angry, anyone could tell that you loved him."

"They threatened to call the police on us." John replied. Mary shrugged.

"That's love. It requires passion, something you and I don't have. But you and Sherlock, it's there. You could tell how happy he was to see you by the way he couldn't stop talking."

"He was insulting me!" John retorted angrily. Mary chuckled from her place on the bed.

"He loves you." She said simply. John went slack-jawed.

"And you love him." She finished, causing John to redden slightly.

"Are…are you…" John stammered, unsure if she meant what he thought she meant.

"Yes, John. I'm breaking up with you before you become sensible enough to realize that you love Sherlock. By the time that happens, we may be engaged." She gazed at him sadly, but with understanding.

"Now, come on. We have to get ready for work, then get you ready to see your detective." Mary smiled sincerely and hopped up to get dressed. John couldn't hold back a small smile of his own at the thought of seeing Sherlock again.

"Consulting detective." He corrected her, grinning.


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: Almost to the Johnlock. So close... Read and enjoy. Remember, reviews are loved!

Chapter 21

John was starting to see things. It was extremely alarming to the medical professional.

It started when he thought he heard Sherlock's voice. He could've sworn that he heard it drifting through the halls of Bart's. (What he heard was an old interview on the waiting room telly, being replayed in honor of Sherlock's return. He was also trending on almost every cite on the internet.)

Then, he had accused a patient of being the detective. It was extremely awkward, and he hoped that he was through imagining after that. But no. As soon as his patients dwindled to none while he still had a few hours to kill, he wondered what Sherlock was doing. Probably chasing a lead for Lestrade.

The thought of Sherlock on a case without him hurt. Would the detective be roaming alone? What if he got hurt? John felt a brief flash of panic at the detective dying _again._ Or for the first time. He was still trying to wrap his head around the concept.

He pictured Sherlock looming over a corpse, maybe that skeleton that had been on the news, calling Lestrade an idiot.

"Show off." He muttered, as if chastising the detective. "Don't forget to put your coat collar up."

"We really need to get the two of you together again." Mary said from the doorway, causing John to flush red.

"I-uh…" John had no coherent thought as to how he could explain his actions. Mary laughed. John, stung, tried to joke a bit.

"With your efforts to get me back together with him, I would think you didn't love me." The doctor seemed to realize how awful this sounded and started to apologize. He was cut off by Mary's reply.

"I do love you, John. Enough to know that you need Sherlock to be happy, _truly_ happy. Now, get out of here." She gestured out the door. "I'll cover for you."

John grabbed his coat and made a break for the door, placing a chaste kiss on Mary's check as he passed.

* * *

Sherlock was bored. Out of his skull, and out of his other skull. His violin refused to help, nor did he have any adequate experiment supplies in the apartment. And he still had no idea where Tilly had hidden his emergency pack of cigarettes.

So when he found that he had emails from clients again, he was thrilled. Then he looked to John's chair, empty, and frowned. He hadn't had to face clients alone in a long time. He didn't want to start back down that path.

"Tilly?" He called down the hall. The little girl scampered into the room, bringing with her the scent of flowers and…burnt hair?

"What are you doing?" Sherlock demanded.

"Bored." The girl muttered, knowing it was a word that her uncle always understood. It did not deter Sherlock from parenting as it usually did. She tried to explain.

"Couldn't find a handgun of John's, so I was testing the effect of heat on-" Sherlock cut her off.

"How did you manage to burn yourself?" He gestured to her hair, and she sighed, but took it down from its ponytail to be inspected. The tips of the curls were blackened, contrasting with their normal cinnamon color. Sherlock glared at the offending tresses.

"We are getting you a haircut. And you are forbidden from all matches and burners." Sherlock thought for a moment. "As well as the kitchen appliances." Tilly pouted.

"Come on, grab your coat. We can get lunch afterwards." Tilly was excited at the thought of spending time with the detective, so she did as she was instructed. Sherlock in turn grabbed his coat, and the two left Baker Street.

* * *

Tilly was forced to take off over six inches of her curls. They had once hung down to the middle of her back and now only brushed the tops of her shoulders. She didn't enjoy it. At all.

"At least you look better with that style than I did." The detective tried to cheer up his niece. She smirked slightly, recalling the pictures that Mycroft had shown her after the three of them had played deductions that morning. She hadn't minded losing to her uncles at seeing Sherlock wear the ridicules hat. Then it had been uproariously funny watching Sherlock suggest that Mycroft date.

(She was quite sure that she had won the deduction game anyway, considering that she was aware of a certain goldfish that Mycroft was quite taken with. Not that he would admit it of course.)

"We can go for some chips." Sherlock suggested. Tilly shrugged noncommittally.

"Can we go see Molly?" She asked hopefully. Sherlock smiled upon seeing his niece take interest in something.

"Yes." Sherlock pretended like it was a great sacrifice on his part, but he truly did enjoy Molly's company. She had been one of his albeit many confidants during his death. She was the one whom he had asked to collect any notes or tokens left on his grave and send them to him. It was in this way that he had acquired Tilly's compositions.

While at the morgue, Sherlock received a text from Lestrade. A case had come up. Sherlock read the details hungrily, before recalling his niece was with him.

"Um, Molly…" He started awkwardly. She glanced up at him, worried that something was wrong. When she saw his gaze dart from her to Tilly to his phone, she understood.

"You should take her." She told him, glancing to where the eight year old was bent over a row of petri dishes.

"No, my question was-" Sherlock was interrupted by Tilly.

"He knows that there isn't any plausible argument he can use to get me to stay back at the flat, so he wants to know if you'll come along and keep me out of trouble." She said, not bothering to glance up at them. When she did look up, it was to add.

"If he were brave enough to have asked himself, he would've forgotten to say please, but you should know he usually says it with subtext." She saw Sherlock's bashful expression and gathered her coat.

"Please, Molly?" She looked at the young woman, her grey eyes pleading. Molly melted.

"Of course." She told the little girl.

"Brilliant. Let's go solve a case." She replied, tugging at Sherlock's coat.

The three moved out onto the street, the weather oddly pleasant for London. Tilly stepped up to the curb and, with a practiced whistle and wave, hailed them a cab. Sherlock watched in amazement as she fearlessly climbed into the car. Last time he had ridden with her in a car, he had had to sedate her to keep her calm, which he had not told John at the time.

Molly noticed his shocked expression and put a hand on his shoulder.

"She grew up a bit while you were away." She said softly. Sherlock sighed.

"I know. It pains me to no end, knowing I missed it."

"Just don't miss anymore." Molly advised him, drawing a smile from the detective.

"Is it only me who remembers that we have a case?" The girl called from the backseat. Sherlock and Molly laughed and climbed into the car.

As the cab speed along the streets, Sherlock noticed that Tilly's hands clutched tightly at the upholstery. He took her right hand in his left and squeezed. She looked at him gratefully before turning to stare out the window.

Sherlock recalled Mycroft saying that he was needed in London. As usual, his brother had been right.


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Note: I live! And I bring you all words, along with promises of frequent chapters! Enjoy, my wonderful readers and equals, you all deserve it for putting up with me. Please review, as I love them and they make wonderful motivations for writing. Also favorite/follow at your leisure. Note is too long now, but I really hope you guys like this chapter. ALMOST JOHNLOCK. So close, I swear.

Chapter 22

Sherlock did indeed call Lestrade an idiot, and Tilly apologized on his behalf. They left the skeleton to drop Molly off at home.

"Bye, Molly." Tilly hugged the pathologist tightly around the middle. Molly smiled and hugged her back just as hard.

"Bye, Tilly. Be good to Sherlock. Don't send him over the edge." Molly gave another horrid joke, and the detective was surprised to see his niece laugh.

"Congratulations, by the way." She said on her way back to the car.

"Oh." Molly was somewhat flustered. "Thank you, dear."

"Yes, congrats. What's his name?" Sherlock said in a bored voice.

"Tom. It's great, we go to the pub on weekends and we've even got a dog." She rambled in an attempt to keep the conversation from being too awkward. They hadn't been alone together since Sherlock had asked her to help him fake his death. The normalcy was hard to manage.

"How's John?" She asked, and Sherlock felt heat slowly rising into his cheeks. Molly smiled knowingly.

"We currently aren't speaking." The detective mumbled. Molly gave him a reassuring pat on the arm.

"He'll come 'round. You're too enamored with each other to avoid it." Sherlock's blush deepened and Molly giggled, glad to have seen some emotion in the usually stoic man.

"Best be going then." Sherlock managed and Molly nodded.

"You know you're his type." She called back at him softly, and he pretended that he hadn't heard. Tilly took in her uncle's red cheeks and he hoped she assumed that it was due to the cold.

"Fancy some chips then?" She asked him, and he nodded gratefully before giving the cabbie the address.

"I hope you're hungry; I always get extra portions from the owner." Sherlock boasted a bit. Tilly grinned and poked at his side.

"Because he thinks you're too skinny?" She giggled and Sherlock gave her a mock glare, forcing her to laugh harder.

"No, I helped him put up some shelves." The detective said stiffly, his face once again a cold mask. It melted when Tilly adopted a quizzical expression.

"What did you _really_ do for him?" Tilly asked, but her uncle merely chuckled, leaving Tilly to wonder the rest of the ride.

* * *

"I don't know how you got him to agree with that ridicules story of yours, you must've threatened him." Tilly huffed as they made their way back to the apartment.

"I've told you repeatedly, there isn't a cover story. I just put up some shelves." Sherlock sighed and Tilly still looked doubtful as her mobile buzzed. She looked at it curiously, wondering if John finally wanted to drop by. (It had been one-hundred and twenty-three days, nine hours, and thirty-six minutes since his last visit, not that she was paying too much attention.)

"Uncle Sherlock, my phone is being odd. It says something about John Watson and St. James the Less." The child told her uncle, automatically deciphering a bit of the skip code.

Sherlock dropped his chips and immediately rushed back down to the street, his niece on his heels.

"Cab?" She questioned, ready to whistle for one. Sherlock shook his head.

"Then what are we in the street for?" She nearly shouted as a motorcycle stopped just short of running Sherlock down. He flashed a nicked badge from Lestrade and hopped on. Tilly appreciated the fact that there were two helmets. If anything were scarier than a car, it was a motorbike.

Tilly clung to her uncle as tightly as she could, only loosening to check her phone for texts, and only because John was in more trouble than she was. Probably. Between whatever it was and Sherlock's driving, it may have been a tie.

"Oh my god." Could be heard from under her uncle's helmet as they passed a barely lit pyre. In the next second, he was breaking the bike and running for his trapped soldier, the apprentice close behind.

* * *

"Help!" John fought weakly against the wood and the drugs. His limbs were heavy, his throat refused to work, and his eyes constantly fought to close. Seeing Sherlock come to his rescue was too much, and for a moment the doctor was quite positive that he had finally died and joined his best friend.

"Sherlock." He managed, the detective brushing his hands everywhere, his touch firm as he patted out the few flames on John's clothes.

"John." Was all the taller man answered before he hugged him to his chest. John wondered why he was still unable to hug back; here he was with his angel, someone just let him feel the man already!

"John, it's alright. I'm here, I'm never leaving." Sherlock whispered, his eyes watering with tears he refused to shed, hoping not to embarrass John with how strong his emotions were.

The doctor wanted his angel to keep saying those words into their shared eternity.

* * *

"John, you're awake." The doctor groaned and opened his eyes only to find very large inquisitive grey ones meeting his.

"Hullo, little one." He said, giving a lopsided grin. Tilly decided to hold off her pouting at his never visiting for when he was better and returned the smile.

"Tilly, I told you that John needed his rest." Sherlock admonished as he strode in, carrying the groceries and other supplies.

"I must be dreaming; Sherlock doing the shopping! I've gone mad." He said dramatically, and Tilly laughed a high, gleeful laugh as Sherlock let loose an indignant huff.

"No, you haven't. You might experience dizziness, headaches, and coughing spells due to the smoke inhalation and the leftover drugs in your system." Tilly replied seriously. John chuckled before giving a weak cough.

"When did you have time to go to medical school?" John quipped and Tilly was about to snap that it was during his absence from her life before Sherlock cut in.

"Tilly, we're letting me play doctor today, if you recall." Sherlock said kindly. "And I say John needs a broth for his throat and then more bed rest. Why don't you go and experiment a bit?" He watched his niece glance from him to John and then scamper from the room eagerly.

"No appliances!" Sherlock called after her. He heard her disappointed groan from the hall.

"Why can't she play with them?" John asked, and Sherlock shook his head, grinning.

"She burned her hair yesterday. Had to go to the barber, which she was _not_ happy about. Called him a hack exactly six times."

"What a coincidence, I burned my hair yesterday as well." John smiled weakly, and instead of laughing as John had been hoping for, Sherlock frowned deeply.

"You burned a bit more than that, I'm afraid. You'll be fine in a few days." Sherlock said as he brought out the burn cream.

"Days? Sherlock, I can't. I have work, and everyone-"

"Will get along fine without you. I've already phoned them and they said take a week off at least." Sherlock did grin at the thought of John staying. John saw the smug look and guessed what it was about gleefully.

"Now, Dr. Watson, you get to be the patient." Sherlock said, helping John sit up. John looked around and saw that he was in his old room, what belongings he had left behind in his flight to escape the ghost of his friend scattered haphazardly.

"Drink this, and try not to speak too much. I imagine your throat is still raw from all the smoke. Also, I have something to help the burns; I've left that on the bedside table." He turned to leave before a look of remembrance crossed his face.

"I also paid the bill for the telly, so it should work now if you get bored. However, I do require you to get some more rest today, as it will speed up recovery-" Sherlock rambled on until John cut him off.

"Thank you." And at those two words Sherlock felt his tension ease and his lips quirk into a happy smile.

"You are most welcome." Sherlock said as he left the room. Later, he checked on John and, as promised, turned out the lights and demanded that the doctor go to sleep. John grumbled good-naturedly as he obliged. Just as he slipped from consciousness, he heard Sherlock whisper as he shut the door.

"You're my angel as well, John."


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Note: More words! I hope to hit fifty followers, so please follow or favorite if you can. I love reviews, so PLEASE leave more. Shout out to all my previous reviewers, BlindViolinist for great ideas and thanks to Nerdgirl64 for giving my attempt at Johnlock a chance. I seriously can't thank all my reviewers enough, you are all so wonderful. I will probably write you all shout outs by the end, but also thanks to InterdimensionalHitchhiker84 and Cherik221B for using the words brilliant and fantastic on this story. So this is my resolution of Tilly missing John when he left Baker Street and a new bit about her parents. I promise you all the next chapter has Johnlock so much and a revealing of Sherlock's lucky charm! (For those who were curious) Enjoy!

Chapter 23

Tilly woke up from her nightmare louder than Sherlock had ever heard her before. Both he and John bolted towards her room, only to find the girl starring at the ceiling dully.

Tilly's nightmares had changed over the years. Where she once watched her imagination's rendering of her parents' demise, she now coped with watching Sherlock fall, watching John walk away…

With no one around to hear her nightmares, her subconscious had responded by forcing the girl to scream louder, more violently, hoping for a response. She would then awaken to her own shouts and calm herself down by trying to numb her feelings, boring herself into a mental stupor.

This was what Sherlock and John walked in on, neither having any idea of course.

* * *

"Tilly, Tilly, what's wrong?" Sherlock rushed to her side, forcing her to sit up and meet his eye. She blinked in recognition before her breathing hitched and her eyes watered.

"I watched you jump. You were gone, and John was crying and he said it was too much. He started to walk away, and I ran after him, but I couldn't catch up and I was all alone. No one cared anymore, and you and Mummy and Daddy were dead." By this point a few tears slipped past her cheeks.

Sherlock picked up the girl and cradled her to his chest as he sat on the bedspread. John stood at the door, dumbstruck. He had never before realized how much his leaving had devastated the girl.

"Shh, Tilly, love, it's alright. I'm here. Remember, you made me promise? Kept it, didn't I?" Sherlock soothed and the girl nodded, snuggling into his once again familiar frame.

"John didn't promise." She sniffed, never lifting her face from where it was pressed into Sherlock's shoulder. John felt his heart clench at the despairing statement. He walked over and knelt by the bed, guilt and sorrow edged in his words.

"Tilly, god, I'm sorry. I never meant to do this to you. It was complicated for a long time, and I thought I needed to be away from the flat, from anything that reminded me of Sherlock, to feel better. But I know now that I was wrong." John said firmly, and Tilly looked up in surprise to find the doctor's blue eyes gazing at her intensely.

"I will never do that to you again, I swear on this bloke's fake grave." John pointed at Sherlock and grinned lopsidedly. The eight year old smiled hopefully at him.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, just enjoying the peaceful pleasure of each other's company. Finally, Tilly looked up at Sherlock inquisitively.

"Can't we all stay up, just this once?" She didn't have to mention the fact that she wasn't very eager to fall asleep again. John chuckled and smiled at Sherlock.

"I don't see why not. I'll go make tea and meet you two on the couch." John stood up and headed for the kitchen. Tilly wormed her way out of Sherlock's arms and pulled him up as well. Then, she grabbed the comforter and headed to the sofa.

She and Sherlock were soon settled and John brought them their tea. Sherlock felt a wave of affection sweep over him as he sipped as he realized that John still remembered the exact way he liked his tea. (As if the doctor would ever forget _anything_ about his sort-of-more-than-friend)

Tilly sat at the far end of the couch, with John on her left. She leaned calmly against the doctor and he put a reassuring arm around her. John and Sherlock sat close enough that their thighs almost touched.

"Uncle Sherlock, tell me a story." She said quietly, before thinking of her criteria for said story. Sherlock held up a hand to stop her thoughts.

"I already have a story in mind, actually. I rediscovered it in my mind palace some time ago." He smiled at her, and she nodded for him to continue.

_"__Charlie!" A now eight year old Sherlock clutched at his oldest brother in a tight hug._

_"__Sherlock! My, aren't you getting big." The older brother said as he reciprocated._

_"__Yeah. I've been measuring. I grew a whole 7.62 centimeters since you were last here." The younger boy stated proudly. His older brother still towered over him with his six foot two frame, though._

_"__Are you ready to go?" He slung Sherlock's bag over his shoulder._

_"__Why is it that when you take me to dance class, we always leave early?" Sherlock asked as he and Charlie climbed into the car._

_"__Well, it's a secret, Lock." Charlie winked and Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste. He did not like having things kept from him. Charlie saw the look and made a decision._

_"__Alright, I'll make you a deal. If you can use that big brain of yours to figure it out, I will tell you if you get it right or not." Charlie glanced at his brother and saw that he looked pleased._

_"__I accept the challenge." Sherlock stated, eagerly running through scenarios. Charlie just grinned and shook his head._

_The car pulled into the studio parking lot so early that no one was there except for the instructor, Sherlock could see her car. The two strolled into the studio, and Sherlock looked around for Miss Sida. _

_She was a pretty young woman with curly dark brown hair and matching warm brown eyes. Her skin was a slightly tan, and she possessed an air of grace about her._

_"__Morning, Miss Sida. Just dropping off a charge of mine." Charlie said bashfully, inclining his head towards his youngest brother. _

_"__Please, call me Cressida. It's nice to see you again, Charlie." She blushed slightly, and Sherlock felt his brother's pulse jump while holding his hand. The child turned his head back and forth before his _AHA _look struck his face._

_"__You two fancy each other!" He cried triumphantly, earning a startled noise from Charlie and a deeper blush from his teacher. _

_"__Lock, why don't you go in and practice?" Charlie asked tensely, directing his brother towards the classroom. Sherlock gave a squeak of protest as he was dismissed, but he did go and start his stretches. _

_After class, Charlie led Sherlock to the car in silence, leaving him to wonder if he had done something wrong. When he finally had the courage to ask, his brother's response was to crack a huge smile._

_"__No, you were right as always, Sherlock. You even scored me a date." He winked and Sherlock giggled, glad to see his brother happy._

"So that was how my mum and dad got together?" Tilly asked wondrously. Sherlock smiled and nodded.

"Yes, and you can thank her for your talents at dance. Now, I do believe it's time for you to go back to bed." He replied and the girl groaned.

"Does John have to go back to bed too?" She questioned, and John sighed and nodded after receiving a pointed look from the detective. At this she brightened and left with Sherlock.

After he had managed to soothe his niece to sleep, Sherlock flopped back on the sofa. He glanced at John shyly before asking a question that had been plaguing his mind since he had rescued John the day before.

"Is Mary fine with you staying here?" Sherlock could've kicked himself at how desperate that sounded.

"She and I aren't together anymore, actually. We decided we weren't right for each other." John laughed a bit and ran a hand through his hair. Sherlock felt his pulse flutter.

"Sorry to hear that." He mumbled, knowing it was what he was supposed to say. John snorted in derision, before catching the grey eyes in his.

"No, you aren't." John said, his eyes glinting with mirth. He glanced at the clock and got up, stretching.

"Best be turning in. Night, mate." John called as he headed up the stairs. Sherlock managed a quick goodnight before settling in to dive into his mind palace. He had a case to solve for his brother, and a blogger to write about it.


	24. Chapter 24

Author's Note: Okay, it took me longer to update than anticipated, but I promise it is worth it. I just hit fifty, yay! Thanks to all who just joined, and all my originals as well for following this story. I'm so thankful you put up with me. Hugs from John and Sherlock! (Well, they hug each other, but we can dream) THE MYSTERY ITEM IS REVEALED! (But I'm quite sure you've all deduced it by now, I have such clever readers) Review, I beg you. Even if it's just to say hi, review. Another thing for you all to deduce is where this story might head now. (It is a seven letter word that you are all hoping for) I say no more, thanks to all who read this and my story. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 24

"Grandmummy, Granddaddy!" Tilly cried, launching herself at her grandparents.

"Hello, love." Her grandmother hugged her. Her grandfather chuckled and gave Tilly a questioning look.

"No hug for me?" Tilly jumped into his arms next, shrieking with laughter as he spun her around.

"Watch the rats." Sherlock muttered, and his father put Tilly down. She flashed a glare at her uncle.

"Rats, dear?" His mother questioned, and Sherlock gave an irritated sigh. His parents were so ordinary, how he had survived his childhood was a miracle.

"He's on a very important case for Uncle Mycroft." Tilly said before adding proudly. "I'm helping."

"Sherlock, after all that mess you went through, you can't be thinking of-" Sherlock cut off his mother's scolding quickly.

"She isn't getting involved with the case, Mum. Tilly is just a big help to me in general." He lied quickly, knowing that Tilly had been very involved so far, as she had visited his train-obsessed client and helped him realize that the train was carrying rat number one.

"In general? What about with the hound-?" Tilly started but Sherlock attempted to distract his parents by interrupting, because no grown man enjoys a scolding from his mother.

"How has your trip been so far?" He asked, knowing the answer would be tedious.

"Well, tonight Mycroft is taking us to the theatre, a real treat. We were going to tour parliament as well, but it's closed. Some big meeting going on." Sherlock stepped between them on the couch to stare intently at his board. There was something he was missing…

"Hi, John." Tilly said loudly, causing Sherlock to wobble on his perch slightly in surprise. His parents shared knowing smiles.

"Hello. Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt, Mrs. Hudson told me to go on up…" He trailed off, staring curiously at the elderly couple on the couch.

"Time for you to go." Sherlock said simply, escorting his parents to the door and trying to shut it in their faces.

"Do ring up more often." His father advised him. "She worries."

"Yes, yes." Sherlock said noncommittally, just as his mother cut in.

"Promise?" She said. Sherlock sighed and placed a quick kiss on her cheek before replying.

"Promise." Then he gratefully slammed the door. Tilly looked between him and John, smiling.

"Clients?" John gestured to the door, and Sherlock shook his head sheepishly. Tilly turned to John and answered.

"My grandparents. I'll be in the kitchen with the bloody light bulb." Shooting a pointed glance at the detective, she turned and left.

* * *

"So…your parents?" John asked, shocked. "Wait, what did she mean 'bloody light bulb'?"

"Yes, my parents. Dreadfully ordinary, a cross I must bear. As for the light bulb, I purchased a pseudo-oven for her to experiment with so that she can avoid injuries. I have no idea if there is actual blood involved." Sherlock listened for any explosions or odd hissing from the vicinity and, hearing none, turned back to his board.

"These are my rats, John." Sherlock said, immediately diving into the case.

"Rats?" John questioned, watching his friend explain with almost youthful vigor. Then, Sherlock watched the video again, marveling at how he had missed such an important clue.

"The whole carriage disappeared." Sherlock nearly shouted, causing John to give him an amused look. The detective was particularly cute when he was discovering things. That feeling soon turned to horror as the two discovered that there was a bomb currently under parliament, ready to destroy London.

"Tilly, we'll be back after supper. Don't leave the apartment, keep your phone on you, and don't burn yourself!" Sherlock headed for the door, John grabbing his coat and following. Tilly rushed in, holding a suspicious looking liquid in her left hand, phone in her right.

"You're doing something dangerous, aren't you?" Her tone was laced with worry. Sherlock nodded. Tilly sighed before turning back to the kitchen.

"Take the soldier with you."

* * *

As they headed down to the subway, Sherlock's hand reached for the smooth item in his pocket. He still refused to believe in luck, but it allowed him to wholly focus on the task at hand, his nerves at John's endangerment receding.

"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed, almost gleeful. _Of course_ that's where the tube was.

"Isn't it live?" John asked. Sherlock scoffed and jumped down with surprising grace for the taller man.

"Perfectly safe as long as you avoid touching the rails." He replied, and dutifully John followed. The two walked along in silence, but it had once again become that comfortable silence. They required no words, communicating their slight worry and ridiculous excitement.

John looked to the detective out of the corner of his eye. He still marveled at the fact that this amazing man was alive. The dim light fell on his chocolate curls and his eyes glinted with the hunger for information.

Sherlock felt his pulse pounding, the thrill of the chase electrifying his veins. He followed his torch beam, waiting to be proven right. When he heard a breathless exclamation from John, he smiled.

"My god." Sherlock turned to see John's blue eyes wide and his mouth an O of surprise. Sherlock looked at the tube carriage and quickly climbed up, urging Jon to follow.

* * *

Torch beams swept across the darkened space. John wanted to give a sigh of relief. He had found nothing, maybe Sherlock had been wrong…

"The whole compartment is the bomb." Sherlock ripped up the seats and John looked around in horror. Sherlock pulled away the board for the timer just as the lights flickered on and the car gave a shudder.

"My God! Why do you never call the police?" John cried. Sherlock remained irritatingly calm, just infuriating the doctor more.

"Go, John." Sherlock said, his voice cracking a little. He felt his heart clenching at the thought of losing John this way, endangering him like this.

"There's no point now." John replied. Sherlock cursed; his valiant soldier wanted to protect the innocents, but what of himself? His selflessness was a quality Sherlock loved and loathed. This was a time when it was the latter.

They argued over the bomb for a minute, bickering like usual. The exchange was enough to calm Sherlock and he ventured into his mind palace hopefully.

* * *

_"__You _can _switch the bomb off, Sherlock, you git." Said the voice of John in his head. This doctor was smiling, and he bent down in the carriage, indicating a tab and miming flipping it._

_"__You are a brilliant conductor." Sherlock answered._

_"__Just get us out of here so you can give me the damn ring." Imaginary John smirked at Sherlock's discomfort._

* * *

"Think!" John cried, just as Sherlock emerged with a cry. He betrayed a hopeless expression and fiddled with the controls franticly.

"I'm sorry. I can't do it, John." Sherlock looked up at his best friend, the only person he cared for, with an utterly defeated expression. "I don't know how."

"Please, John, forgive me. For all the hurt that I've caused you." Sherlock said breathlessly. John looked at him angrily.

"I don't know how, John. I need you, and if you can't forgive me, I don't know how I'll go on." He gazed at the doctor's still irritated expression.

"No, no, no no no. This is a trick, another one of your bloody tricks." John couldn't dare believe that this man, this ridiculous man, was saying that he… he…

"I wanted you not to be dead." He said. He felt the ring in his pocket. "Hell, I wanted a future with you, you sod!"

"Be careful what you wish for. If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing there, and you'd still have a future-"

"It wouldn't be good enough without you!" He snapped, the realization hitting him square in the chest. All the feelings, most of them pleasant, that he had for this man flooded his system. He briefly wondered about his mortality forcing this, but he _knew_ they were all sincere: He still loved, would _always_ love, Sherlock Holmes.

Even if he was the thickest genius on the planet. Which he was.

"You wanted a future with me?" Sherlock questioned, vulnerable.

"Yes." Was all John could manage. He took a deep breath just as Sherlock spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you love me, John?"

* * *

Sherlock felt the words leaving his lips. He knew there was no threat of explosion, and no chance that John would forgive him for omitting that fact, but he had to let John know that he loved him. He had to have this moment, with John saying that he could love a man like him. He had to know that he hadn't lost John, his only, forever.

His fingered the wedding band in his pocket, taking it out and letting it see light for the first time in years. He felt the smooth platinum band idly, searching for the engraving on the inside.

_I'd be lost without you_

* * *

"You are the best and the wisest man I have ever known, so yes, of course, I love you." John said. He held Sherlock's gaze for a minute before shutting his eyes and awaiting the coming explosion.

"I love you, John Watson." Sherlock said, before striding over and planting a firm and desperate kiss on John's lips.

John felt Sherlock's lips on his, one hand lovingly cupping his face and the other slipping something warm and heavy onto his finger. John opened his eyes to see a flash of light and then his world seemed to explode.


	25. Chapter 25

Author's Note: Tada! For those of you who don't know, I've updated chapter 24, so go back and look! It's longer and there's romance and gasp!- the mystery item of Sherlock's! All that I promised and more awaits. The word that's on all of your minds, and a happy ending approaches. (Yay, happy, aww, ending) Also, sorry that this chapter is a tad short. SO, I give you, chapter 25! *Bows and exits elegantly* Oh, and review please! Even if it's just what you found funny, or likeable, or just to say hi, or to guess what word I was thinking of! (Seven Letters, hint, hint)

* * *

Chapter 25

"Mycroft called while you were out. Something about taking over at intermission." Tilly didn't glance from the children's toy as John and Sherlock trudged into the room. She looked up to find Sherlock and John being followed by Greg and Molly.

"You didn't tell me we were having guests." She took off her goggles and rushed to hug Lestrade and Molly.

"Hello, there, Tilly." Greg lifted her up and spun her around, causing Tilly to giggle incessantly. Sherlock rolled his eyes, John chuckled, and Molly smiled. Tilly ran to her next, just as Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs with tea and biscuits.

"Molly, Molly, who's the lucky fellow?" She bounced around pointing to the ring on the woman's finger. Molly blushed before she answered.

"His name is Tom. He's quite handsome, you'd like him, Tilly. In fact, I've been given permission by your uncles to invite him here." She smiled as she twirled the ring. Tilly gave a clap of glee.

"How did the case go, then?" She asked Greg. She perched on the armrest of the sofa as he took a seat next to her.

"Well, Sherlock called the police for once, but when we got there with bomb disposal-"

"She doesn't need to know that bit." John interrupted, flustered. Tilly watched as a blush coated Sherlock's pale cheeks as well. Eagerly, she turned to Greg.

"What aren't they telling me, Lestrade?" She said sweetly, batting her eyelashes. He glanced to Sherlock, but decided that incurring the wrath of the detective was alright, just this once.

"We found the bomb turned off, with the two of them snogging their faces off. As if they hadn't a care in the world." He chuckled. Tilly smiled before her expression hardened.

"Bomb?" She raised an eyebrow at her uncle. He started babbling excuses, until she saw the ring on his finger. Then she glanced to see a similar ring adorning the hand of the army doctor.

"You did it!" She shrieked, launching at Sherlock. She hugged the tall man as tightly as she could. Sherlock felt his face burning, but he smiled and returned the hug.

"Wait, she knew?" John questioned.

"What did she know?" Greg asked.

"Oh, Tilly, did he-?" Mrs. Hudson looked at her. She beamed and nodded at the older woman.

"Oh, wonderful! Who did the proposing, then?" Her gaze went back and forth between the two men expectantly.

"Proposing?" Greg managed, coughing on a biscuit he had just taken a bite out of. Sherlock navigated his way out of his niece's hug and held up his hand sheepishly, John doing the same with his own hand.

Greg smiled, but still looked a little flabbergasted. Mrs. Hudson and Molly were cooing over the two of them, while Tilly was grinning like a cat with a bowl of cream.

"Who popped the question?" Tilly exclaimed. Both men grinned a little. Tilly stomped her foot impatiently.

"Well, Sherlock got me to admit that I was in love with him, under the threat of being incinerated." John threw an exasperated look at the detective. In response, Sherlock merely grabbed John's hand and squeezed it.

"Then the bloke kissed me, and managed to slip a ring on my finger." John fiddled with the attractive platinum band proudly. Sherlock watched fondly and smiled.

"You owe me ten quid, Tilly." Molly said.

"Why?" John asked. What could she owe money for at such a young age?

"Not yet; who actually said the words, 'Will you marry me?'" Tilly interrogated the two of them. The sort-of engaged pair suddenly found the ground very interesting, as they refused to meet the gazes of anyone in the room.

"You mean neither of you actually asked?" Tilly said incredulously. Both men shook their heads, still not meeting her eyes.

"You two have got to be the biggest love-struck twits I have ever had the fortune to meet." Tilly muttered. Molly nodded and Mrs. Hudson giggled. Before anyone could pester the couple further, a tall man dressed similarly to Sherlock strode into the room.

"Oh! Everyone, this is Tom. Tom, this is everyone." Molly said shyly, watching her friends examine her fiancé.

"Pleasure to meet you." He said politely. John looked on in amusement as Greg kept looking between Sherlock and Tom in shock. Mrs. Hudson offered him tea and he accepted, taking off his coat and following her to the kitchen.

Tilly beamed at Molly and Molly's unease dissipated. Sherlock and John wandered into the hallway.

"She's right, you know. You never actually asked me to be your husband." John's eyes twinkled as Sherlock stammered incoherently.

"I assumed…" He looked to John expectantly.

"You assumed I'd say yes?" John watched the man he was in love with look slightly unsure for once and laughed, but not unkindly.

"Are you saying I should ask formally, then?" Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.

"Or I could ask?" John said playfully. Sherlock tried to control his surprise. John smirked.

"You always have to have the last word, don't you?" He joked, kissing the taller man lightly on the lips. Sherlock responded heartily, deepening the kiss until they had to break away for air. He grinned at the man he was in love with, and they both broke out in the unmanly giggles they were accustomed to share from time to time.

"I'll outlive God trying." Sherlock added, causing John to smile wider.

"So, Sherlock…"

"So, John…"

"Will you-"

"Do me the-"

"Honor of-"

"Marrying-"

"Me?"

The kiss that followed sufficed as a mutual _yes_.


End file.
